This is a true story. It has been told many times and always gets a laugh. I even told it at her funeral as she always said that she didn't want people sitting around crying. Now it was a typical Saturday morning at our house and It had to be sometime before Memorial Day because my parents were still at home, normally they are at our cottage. My mom who is a habitual early riser headed to the kitchen to make coffee and le...
It was late April. Harold Bailey, stiletto attack survivor, woke up with that queasy feeling in his innards. For months, he’d contemplated spilling the truth to his wife about that fateful Halloween Eve, but knowing how inconceivable his encounter was with the satanic shoes, he could not divulge a word. “No,” he said to himself gazing at the bathroom mirror after a brisk tooth brushing. “I can’t risk losing my job, or cos...
Richard Bailey dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it. He trembled as he reached for his cell phone, dialing the appropriate three-digit number before dropping it on the tile floor; luckily it didn’t break. “Come, come on,” he screamed. “Answer the phone! Hello?” “Chatham Police, what is your emergency?” said the female voice, cool and firm. “I’m getting attacked by a pair of stiletto heels!” “I’m...
This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.Tired old mud-splatteredWell-worn boot.Nobody's Number One,They don't give a hoot.Dull ugly colours, somewhat ragged,Got some holes.Dirt-stiff ancient lacesHolding on to worn-down soles.Glitter-pretty princess shoe,Shining golden heel;This is party girl's first choice,Like royalty, she'll feel.Shining sequins scatteredUpon a gol...
