This morning, we fell in love with Cathy Horyn. Not only did she brave the shoe departments at Barneys and Bergdorf to research her story on 5-inch stilettos, she (or her sadist editor) had the grand plan to don said shoes – for research purposes, natch – at Michael's. She just happened to pick the day when Anna Wintour, Tina Brown, Joan Rivers, and Ralph Lauren were also lunching.

At Avenue of the Americas and 55th Street I got out of a taxi. Taking the R train there was out of the question: not only are the heels high and slanted, but they also taper to a point the size of a nailhead. I had thought to take along a pair of ballet flats, which many bright women in New York on their way to a date or a party have no trouble rationalizing. It's like having a limousine without the expense and bother.

I mounted the curb. Now six feet tall, I suddenly felt less invincible than wretchedly vulnerable, to gross stares and gusts of wind. Michael's, barely half a block away, seemed a journey of several miles.

I clumped toward the big "Love" sculpture. I thought: "This won't do. Lunch will be over by the time I get there." Looking around — oh, what was the point! — I ducked behind a pillar and put on my ballet flats. Then I hurried on to Michael's, bolting past Ms. Wintour and the noontime crowd.

The only way to improve on this story: Embellish the facts, pretend to have kept the heels on and tripped over Wintour, spilling her gravlax all over her patent Chanel.

Stilt Walking Into Spring [Cathy Horyn, NYT]