I went out with my best pal for a Saturday night out round our hometown (near Birmingham in Britain), something I have done, on and off, since I was sixteen. Over twenty years later, in 2003, the novelty and excitement has long gone and a weekend night round the pubs has become something of a flat routine ritual – still I enjoy drinking beer.

After consuming reasonably large amounts of beer we finished up in a place calling itself a Café Bar, it was in fact a pub with tacky ill-proportioned plastic/plaster pseudo classical furnishings, a dancefloor, music and most importantly a bar that stayed open till the early hours of the morning.

Leaning against a wall, drinking my beer and talking to my pal, I observed a group of attractive late-twenties/30+ women (about six in total), who were partying: variously drinking, laughing, dancing and talking to various guys. The one woman was really partying and was really drunk. I have never actually spoken to her, but have seen her out round the town at various venues over the years. She is a bit younger than I am; I’d say about 35, attractive, with blond streaked hair, shortish with a nice rounded figure and has a certain sexual appeal. Alas, she is also very loud in her behaviour and is a bit on the common side (Americans might call her type ‘Trailer Trash’) and not the sort you take home to meet your parents – still I wouldn’t turn down the chance of a one-night stand or two if the opportunity presented itself. I’ll call her Marie, because I think that is actually her name.

Marie was wearing a black top with a white pattern on it, black trousers and black medium heeled open-toed mules (slides to you Americans) and had a thick silver ring on the middle toe of her left foot. Her feet were bare in her mules, with toenails painted red. She really was partying, showing off, fooling about and generally getting above herself. Suddenly Marie, who was pretty drunk, tripped and fell over backwards. I was appalled because as she went down she banged the back of her head on the wooden floor and I was half expecting her to remain lying, be injured and unconscious with emergency services be called to attendance. To my amazement she sat up, she had bumped the back of her head, sure, and kept rubbing the back of her head with one hand. Her friends knelt down around her to offer comfort, help and support. But apart from an aching head and being a bit shocked, she seemed okay. I then noticed, about eight foot away from Marie, a black open-toed mule on its own on the wooden floor in the crowded bar. It was Marie’s left mule and it had gone flying off her foot when she fell. I also noticed a couple of guys pointing at it and laughing. The one, in joker mode, looked around and believing no one was watching him, gave Marie’s lost shoe a sharp kick, the missing shoe went along the wooden floor at speed and was about another ten-fifteen foot further away from Marie.

I turned and watched Marie, who had been helped up by her girlfriends, she was embarrassed and shaken, and stood for a while in her one mule-one bare foot condition, seemingly oblivious to her shoe loss. I then glanced at where Marie’s shoe had been kicked to – but it was gone! My friend later said he’d some younger guys kick it away again. Whatever the case, Marie’s shoe had gone.

Marie, standing and regaining her bearings, looked down at her feet and seemed to shake her head; she then looked at the floor area around her, in vain. By now two of her girlfriends were standing by her. She pointed down at her bare foot and held her hands up in exasperation and being a loud girl, I heard her above the music, say, “I’ve lost me f**king shoe! Oh f**k! I’ve lost me f**king shoe!”

Marie’s friends mounted a search, but to no avail, the shoe had by now completely vanished. Marie seemed cross and some chap came over to enquire if she was okay, “Yeah!” she snapped and looked the other way. She then stood alone for a while, by now her friends had given up on the shoe search and were partying and chatting to guys. I wondered what Marie’s next move would be. Would she storm off home? Would she remove her remaining mule? Would she rejoin the party?

Marie looked thoughtfully down at her feet; she held her bare left foot, with the thick silver ring on the middle toe, out in front of her and eyed her bare foot. She did this a couple of times, holding the bare foot out in front of her and eyeing her shoeless foot. It was almost as if she was trying to satisfy herself that her ‘new-look’ was okay. Then Marie, still wearing her remaining right mule, walked over to the main crowd and continued drinking, talking to guys and generally having a laugh. She also went up to the bar with one girlfriend to buy more drinks. For about another forty minutes Marie carried on partying – all throughout, she kept her remaining right mule on her foot and surprisingly, especially in view of her drunkenness, she walked well with only one shoe. I observed her talking to a couple of her girlfriends and then turn around and walk over to some guys she clearly liked. It was fascinating watching her carry on her evening, regardless, wearing one shoe. Eventually, the girls departed, I believe they had a taxi ordered or someone was picking them up. Marie, by now very drunk and loud and not wanting to leave, was dragged away by her friends. As they walked past me and out of the door, I observed Marie was still wearing her remaining mule.