Sally wandered around in a drunken stagger-limp until the heel snapped off her second shoe. She hiccupped, giggled and clung onto Doug.
“It’s hard to walk like this!” she said. Or, she thought she said. Apparently, she was incoherent.
“Don’t talk. Just try to make it to the car.”
“Don’t talk to me like that! How dare you judge me?”
“Stop trying to talk. You’re making no sense, and… hang on where, did you get that wine from?”
Sally managed to slip out of Doug’s arms and run a few steps, trying to drink the wine. Her shoes, with both heels gone, bent up strangely at the front and caused her to lean backward. She ended up on the ground with her feet in the air. The only wine that had not ended up on the grass was on her face. She laughed.
Doug shook his head and looked at his son.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to get your mother to the reception. Make sure you tell the bride this doesn’t run in the family.”