The Lady with High heels

In the front of my office building, the walkways are intermitted with a geometrically designed hexagonal cement patterns with alternating hexagonal holes concentric to the hexagonal pattern surrounding the hole. Probably the idea of the designer was that there would be grass growing through holes, and a well trimmed uniform meadow popping through the holes at approximately same height as the surrounding cement pattern would look cool. But that is not what is happening there. The grass is usually yellow and dead even the earth from the holes keep spilling out creating quite a no. of voids in the pattern which are potential hazard for careless walkers and people with small foot or high heels.

Late one night you see when I exited the office building I found myself behind a women ....no a lady immaculately dressed in her black business suit, and balker shoulder length hair. She was dragging behind her a black trolley-bag with majestic grace and below her were black shoes with approximately 4 inch heel pin (these were the type of shoes ladies usually were with pointed front and high heels but I don't know their correct name.). Surrounded by all this black her pristine collar and glowing face looked almost poetic. No jewellery, very light or no make up, drop-dead-gorgeous. My genetically programmed eye automatically started to follow her. As she was making her way through the above mentioned demented walkway her right heel found its way into one of these voids twisting her slender ankle. Out came the characteristic feminine high pitched shriek. My heart went out for the damsel in pain, but my brain was not helping at all, there was nothing I could think of to say or do except pick her up and carry her. However gallant or tempting that may be I neither had the guts nor courage to carry it out. As I was raking my brains to find something to do, she rotated her head around to see if someone had heard her, but did not catch me as I was directly behind her and maximum peripheral human vision is about 300 degrees. She slowly limped her way to the nearest high raised slab, sat down, massaged her ankle, readjusted her shoe, stood up and walked away with her former grace. I stood there like a prize idiot just looking at her.

Since then whenever I cross or see those cement patterns in front of my office, I have a lot of regret about that night not asking her was she ok, not offering her to carry her trolley-bag not doing anything ....something. But I also wonder why had she speculatively looked around, was she _looking_ if someone had heard her or was she looking if someone had _heard_ her. I don't think in any near future the lady in the above description would chance to read this blog entry, but if you do madam and your reasons for looking around that night were former, forgive me for writing this blog but if it were the latter your knight in a dull T-shirt was just behind you but alas too unclever and shy...