The Gift Horse

I was waiting for a bus when suddenly a wellington boot landed on the bonnet of a nearby car. It was quickly followed by a stiletto. Cars screeched to a halt and chaos ensued as hundreds of different types of footwear fell from the skies; Slippers, riding boots, even a size 11 cowboy boot.
I huddled in the bus stop and waited for the madness to end. As quick as it had come, the shower was over, leaving a mountain of shoes in its wake.
People were coming out of the nearby houses, looking skywards in shock, but I was ahead of the posse. Knowing my wife’s obsession for footwear, I thanked the gods for my lucky windfall. Racing into the street, I grabbed as many shoes as I could carry, stuffing them into pockets, and grabbing armfuls of the leather delights. By the time I was finished, the street was already getting crowded. I heard heated words being exchanged as people tried to find shoes in their own size. It would only be a matter of time before the old bill arrived so I hurried home with my new-found wealth.
“Hey, come quick!” I called as I barged through the door, dropping a trail of shoes in my wake. “Look what I’ve got, darling.”
My wife’s eyes lit up with joy. This was better than a box of chocolates and some droopy flowers any day. With any luck I’d be in for a night of hot passion.
It didn’t take long for my bubble to burst, however.
“They’re all made for the same foot! Where are the ones for my other foot?” my wife complained. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
“What! They can’t be. There must be at least some in there,” I objected.
I barely missed being hit by a flashy wedge with silver buckles. “You idiot! Can’t you do anything right?”
Later that evening, sitting in sullen silence, we listened to the local news…
“Earlier today, a mini tornado struck the High Street. Bizarre reports are coming in from the nearby vicinity. Many parts of the city were deluged with the contents of the city centre shops. Local shopkeepers are calling it a disaster and are claiming to have lost thousands of pounds of their stocks, to say nothing of the damage caused by the tornado. We’re going over to our intrepid reporter: Lisa, who is reporting live from one such scene on Tipworth Street. Earlier today, the street was blocked with a deluge of sweets and chocolates. Hi Lisa, can you tell me what happened?”
I grabbed the remote control to switch stations, but not quickly enough to stop my wife’s barbed comment, “Why couldn’t you have been waiting for the bus in Tipworth Street instead? I’d never say no to a box of Black Magic!”
I didn’t bother telling her that the number 10 bus didn’t run down Tipworth Street. I was already in the dog house.
By the following morning I was sick of the sight of the shoes, so I loaded them into a rucksack and headed into town. The town centre looked like it had been in the blitz, but the owner of the shoe shop was very happy to get some of his lost display back. He even gave me a tenner for my trouble.
Needless to say, the wife got a box of chocolates that evening.
We even had an early night.

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