An Old Low Point

Being eighteen and full of it, I replaced the petrol cap on my car and strutted through the garage flicking my blonde hair, knowing that every other customer there was male.

My wedge heel caught in my wide leg trouser.

Sliding down the garage forecourt on my front like I was competing in the skeleton bob, I convinced myself that no one would have noticed.

I stood up, blinking back the tears pretending not to be in agony, to realise that my black vest top had come down and my now grazed breasts were exposed.

At least I got a round of applause.