“If only,” I sigh, staring down at my shoes; stained with embarrassment. Once red stilettoes soiled by the obscuring mud,

gathered in crowds at the toecap to laugh at my misjudgement.

Whispers of mud settle in footprints on the pavement,

a crime scene for those who wish to investigate my failure.

“Oh well,” I giggle when we reach the restaurant.

A perfect, purple rug waits to be polluted.

“If only I had worn the right shoes to jump out of a tree in.”