Day 18: Soleless in the cemetary

 As I cautiously walked across the gravel in the graveyard, I was terrified I was going to twist my ankle in my high heels. Aunt Angela would definitely not have been impressed—she always preferred sensible shoes and sensible behaviour.

Then I felt it: a suspicious little “flip-flap” sound underfoot.

I stopped to inspect the damage and, to my horror, saw that the sole of one of my shoes was hanging on by a thread—well, glue, probably. Either way, it was dangerously close to flapping right off in front of the mourners.

So, what to do?

Power on and risk tripping? Or rip it off and try to dodge all the sharp stones in my tights?

I chose the latter and made it through the ceremony, walking with all the grace of a half-barefoot flamingo.

Still, in reflection, I suppose I wasn’t the first person to lose my sole in a graveyard.