I wear spike heels about as often as most people clean out the gutters. But every now and again, you just have to do it. (The gutters and the heels.) Last night, my husband's company threw their annual Christmas party at the House of Blues in Hollywood, and I dutifully dusted off the black strappy, ice pick shoes of death.

And then I promptly stepped on my own foot. My own bare foot. With the spikey part.

Childbirth holds no fear for me now.