Tuesday, October 07, 2008
I still love Pierre Hardy, although his current collection doesn't touch me in the same way that past collections have. However, here is a story that will no doubt tear at your most resistant heartstrings.
This past spring, I somehow acquired my first pair of Pierre Hardy shoes (yes, I'm talking about the beauties you see in the picture). They went so perfectly with my dress that I knew it could only have been a match made in heaven. I had bought the outfit for a wedding I would be attending with my boyfriend in New York.
As I slipped on my deep blue dress and zipped up my gorgeous shoes the night of the wedding, I felt fantastic. As I waited for the elevator and made my way to the lobby, I was beginning to feel the slightest bit off kilter. During hors d'oeuvres following the ceremony, my discomfort was growing exponentially by the minute but the compliments I was getting (many from allegedly fashion-savvy men) still left me predominately walking on air.
Then came the dancing. Oh, the dancing. Such discomfort I cannot even describe. The first slow song came on and I attempted to dance with Jared but I couldn't even sway from side to side in any organized fashion. I think he was baffled by my rhythmic disabilities and we had to give up prematurely. Oh, the shame.
But I was determined not to remove my shoes. I knew that the second I did I was admitting defeat, and I was not about to be dominated by a very costly pair of shoes. Beautiful shoes. I wore them all night and somehow found a means of dancing along the path of least awkwardness. I twisted and shouted; I jumped; I even brought my own unstable brand of sexy back.
Still, I've never felt better taking off a pair of shoes at the end of the night. It's even possible that I freed my feet from their bondage in the hallway leading to our hotel room.
But now I'm not sure what to think. While I prefaced this as a heartbreaking tale, I realize now that it is more triumphant than anything else. I made it through the night. I dominated the shoes. And while the tragedy might lie in my fear of ever donning them again (sit-down occasions excluded), I managed to find a middle ground with the Hardys. I think Pierre would be proud.
Perhaps the most amazing part of being human is that we are able to learn so many new things every day. My mind is constantly being led this way and that, with surprises around every corner and endless information to absorb. I regret to say I forget a large portion of it; however, I doubt I'll soon forget one of today's new tidbits. Cut to... banana slugs!!!
Not only are these bad boys (and girls) hermaphrodites: they all have penises that can rival their bodies in size! And did I mention their average body size is 6-8 inches? Impressive even by human standards! But wait, I think I've jumped the gun. I have science to back me up right now. While there is an ongoing debate as to the existence of more than one species of banana slug, the proposed second species bears the name A. dolichyphallus , which, when translated, means "giant penis". How's that for a classification?
But it only gets better. Although their hermaphroditic sexuality allows them to self-fertilize - for evolutionary purposes that will soon become clear - banana slugs prefer to engage in paired reproduction. Owing to their huge "endowments" the two slugs must first check each other out, circling one another for an extended period of time to ensure that their giant penises will fit each others genital openings. Once satisfied with their compatibility they take turns penetrating each other.
Now here's the zinger. Banana slug couples often become stuck to one another during intercourse. And, being that they're slugs and have little in the way of appendages with which to attempt separation, the slug being penetrated bites off the other slug's penis.
Scientists purport that these slugs have maintained their hermaphroditic capabilities to accommodate the fact that so many hand over their penises with their virginity. Others say this bobbitization is meant to evolutionarily favor smaller penises. Either way, this is by far the most bizarre mating ritual I've ever come across.
So guys, next time your girlfriend is giving you trouble, be glad, at the very least, that she won't later have to bite off your dick.
This picture is dedicated to my boyfriend. Not only is he probably the sole reader of this blog, but I also think this is what he'd look like as a banana slug, 'stache and all.