Last night I was out with my friend D and we ended up pretty drunk. Well, I was probably the most drunk as D was drinking pretty slowly so I was having bigger shares of the wine than she was.
I think it was pretty much the last subway home I ended up on (although I can't be 100% sure given how pissed I was) but I do remember this much. That I was walking up the stairs from the platform at Hillhead station and when I reached the top I realised that I'd stepped right out of one of my ballet pumps halfway up.
And there were tons of people behind me.
As images of my poor shoe being trampled to death and of me having to limp home with one shoe on ran through my head, someone spotted my predicament and picked up the shoe and brought it to me.
I would love to say it was a handsome prince who tried the shoe on me and it fit and we lived happily ever after, but no such luck.
It was a girl who I could tell was trying really hard not to laugh.
After my reunion with my shoe, I came home and and was involved in a mildly risque text conversation. And then had a silent disco in my room until half one in the morning.
So there's my mundane story of the day . . .