Shoelaces and slugs: Dexterity to a Downfall

It was that time of day where morning had started bleeding into noon, though the 12 o’clock chime had not yet rung its tinny excuse for a toll. The day stretched out in front of me, seeming to never end in all its sweltering, splendid glory that hinted at chalk powder, the occasional welcome ice cube in the glass of water, and lavishly drawn-out cold showers. I was, as it turns out, in one of children’s natural habitats, the backyard, doing a habitual practise common for children: drawing on asphalt with chalk. At this point, I happened to notice an untied shoelace.

I had just recently acquired the well-coveted skill among my fellow preschoolers, tying my shoelaces. It was considered quite enticing and well-envied, something that all my lowly comrades surely aspired to achieve. Eager to practise my proficiency at this matter, I dropped the nub of chalk and stepped over my masterpieces to the middle of the driveway. Why, exactly, I picked the middle of the driveway to tie my shoelace is a mystery to me.

I’d soon wished I hadn’t bothered to strut to the middle of the driveway like a proud peacock. To put it shortly, there was now the viscous carcass of a slug affixed to the sole of my shoe. Of course, me being the naive, puerile child that I was, I opted to the most logical pathway one can possibly take in such a situation. I kicked off the offending shoe and hopped around the driveway on one foot, screeching like the Devil himself had dropped in for a cup of tea and a biscuit, before he reaped my soul to the Underworld.

In the end, I acquired a new pair of shoes and a beastly fear of slugs.