Tango shoes

If my shoes could talk, they'd speak of disappointment, verrucae, jagged nails sharp as shark teeth and bad odour... They'd speak of hairy toes, deformed digits and shaving wounds.

They'd talk non stop of abuse and neglect.

But worst of all they'd just go on about bad bad bad performance. They were meant to shine. To slide gracefully on the dance floor. To move quickly and effortlessly.

They are the shoe equivalent of living on the dole in a housing estate with 10 children and an abusive husband. Somewhere horrid, like Nottingham...

Yup, keep disappearing...