The clock strikes 3am, your feet turn into pumpkins.

This has happened to us all. Don't lie, you know there's that one pair of insane stilettos that you bought because they make you legs look a million miles long and your ass go POW, but if you wear them for longer than 6 minutes you'd think that you were stuck in a furnace wearing these:

See? Now you remember. Or at least your feet do. Think New Years. We're notorious for wearing ridiculous shoes on the one night of the year it's nigh impossible to get a taxi in any city.

But, fret not! There's an answer! Enter Rollasole!

Matt Horan was struck with genius after one too many nights of having to carry his girlfriend home on his back as the result of her sadistic (though gorgeous, I'm sure) choices in footwear. Since that night in 2008, he's been the saviour of shoe-anistas everywhere!

In fact, they're so popular now, some clubs are selling them in vending machines on-site:

Let me explain how they work. They come rolled up inside a drag-string bag, and the idea is that you can cram them into your going-out purse and forget they're there.

Until furnace-feet kick in. Then, you will gleefully recall that they're hiding in the recesses of your bag, between the lipgloss and your cell phone, and you unroll them and swap them for your metal-fire-torture shoes.

And that handy little bag they came in? Big enough to fit your skyscraper stilettos and you can use the drawstring as a wrist strap!

I had seen them at various drug stores around various cities, but was a little unsure of the necessity of such a thing (plus all the ones I had seen were black and boring-looking). Like Jenna Marbles (as seen here at 4:42), I feel that when one walks out of the house in a pair of shoes, she is married to them for the evening. You made your bed, girl, now limp home on it. But, when we were in Vegas in October, my partner in crime, Dominique, came back from a toiletry run with these bad-boys:

First of all, they're gold. Come now, how can anyone say no to that? Dominique's are metallic pink, so they're just as adorable.

So, I gave them a shot. That night, we went out dancing like the crazy glamazons we are, in our very own version of the glass slipper (read: ticking-toe-time-bombs) and when the champagne began to wear off, I could feel the first few flames licking at the soles of my feet.

Of course, I had forgotten that I had them, but when I went to sit down for a moment, Dominique reminded me, and, lickety-split, I flipped off my heels, slipped on my little flats, and was back on the dance floor before the song was finished.

And my foot-fire was extinguished!

The best part was that when my Vegas-boyfriend (a charming Brit named Luke) came by, I was ready to pop my heels back on and keep dancing til dawn!