The Saturday before last, Oli and I headed to a party. I donned my wedges and a pretty dress, we grabbed a bottle of gin and left the house. Upon arriving I headed straight for the buffet, nibbles have to be one of the best things at a party. There was a platter of tasty sandwiches on offer along with crisps, chicken dippers, chicken skewers, pizza, cocktail sausages; the list could go on. I didn’t have dinner to be fair and I’m not one to turn down a free meal.
After eating more than my fair share of the buffet and interrupting bites with lots of small talk, it was time to hit the dance floor. Complete with flashing lights, smoke machine, tunes both old and new and disco ball centre stage, it was well and truly decked out for boogie-ing. The evening soon became a blur of fun, loud music and dancing with reduced inhibitions. In fact I danced so vigorously that when I stopped to refuel I noticed that my wedge strap felt weird. I looked down to find it had ripped away from the shoe. A broken shoe can only be the sign of a jolly good night!
We had a whale of a time, busting the moves, whizzing and whirling around in the bright lights. There’s nothing quite like shaking the stress away on a Saturday night.