Nightclubs

Once again, I didn't get picked as a winner in B3ta's "Question of the Week". Try, try again!

This week's question was:

Nightclubs: Thinly-disguised entrances to Hell where bad things happen. Tell us your dancefloor disasters.

My reply, which was a worked-over retelling of a tale I put on the blog several years ago, was:

Stiletto Heel: I was dancing in a discotheque, looking all suave, when someone stepped on my foot. I didn't glance around and seek out the person at fault. Instead, I surmised I was just dancing too close to someone, and started boogeying away across the dance floor in order to find more space.

There was a problem, though. My foot still hurt. Indeed, the pain seemed to be increasing as I continued to dance. What could it be?

Finally, I looked down, and I was shocked: a woman's shoe was attached to my own. Someone's stiletto heel had slipped into the narrow gap between my shoe and my foot. Through bumptious dancing, I had managed to wrench her shoe off of her foot, and carried it away.

I looked up, and I was shocked again: a shoeless elegant beauty was limping across the floor, frantically trying to catch up to me as I boogied away across the floor with her shoe.

I tried to ceremoniously return the shoe to the elegant beauty, but she wouldn't go for any of the Cinderella crap.