I recently came back home from a wonderful beach vacation. The following Sunday morning Matt and I left the house early in search of breakfast at the fabulous Bertie Lou's Cafe. As we walked out of the parking lot, past the dumpster, a flash of sparkle caught my eye. I looked and saw a clear plastic stiletto heel in the style of "working girl". I looked at Matt, eyebrow raised, and asked if he had seen this earlier in the week. He stated that it is not his custom to look under dumpsters. I hadn't noticed it the night before either and assumed that it must have made its appearance overnight. I hesitantly approached the dumpster, thought better of it, and instead asked Matt to look inside the said dumpster. "What exactly am I supposed to be looking for" Matt asked. "Clearly," I responded, "a dead hooker." You see, perhaps I have read too many murder mysteries or perhaps I'm an incurably untrusting, cynical East-coaster; either way, my first thought on seeing this shoe was not "Oh, some drunk coed got tired of her spiky shoes last night on her walk home and disposed of them" but instead "Aagh, an angry pimp availed himself of our unlocked dumpster to dispose of inconveniently dead girl". Luckily no dead girl was found in our dumpster and we continued on our merry way to breakfast. Matt thinks that my line of reasoning is just another clue that I am actually a psychopath. I still think that evidence was on my side. After all, what coed gets tired of just one shoe?
