When the subconscious attacks...

Turning the corner into Lonsdale, I found myself behind a generic mincing business-girlie. She was wearing shoes of the usual high fashion, the ones with the pointy toes and heels. Except the heels on these were only about half an inch, so the pinching in to the tiny little stiletto heel was utterly ridiculous.

"What stupid bloody shoes," I mentally sneered.

A block later, just as I was about to turn into Swanston, we got jostled in merging pedestrians, and I - in my big clod-hopping boots - trod on the back of her heel. And snapped her strap.

I did my best innocent bunny frozen in headlights impersonation, apologised profusely, continuously, vehemently. And then I ran away.

Obviously my subconscious is even more nasty than I am. Or maybe my boots are the fashion police. I am the Law!