Cinderella in London

It wasn't the nasty stepsisters (or stepbrother) who did it.  They weren't nasty.  Nasty wasn't in their disposition.  Indeed, all were breathless with hopes that the ensuing impact, to all appearances about to transpire, would be softened by some miracle -- that the cab headed towards her would turn into a pumpkin.  At least pumpkin is a softer material than the metal grille of a cab.

At any rate (and the cab was going at somekinda-rate), Cinderella hurried, and that's when two things happened.  One, the magic slipper slipped.  Yes.  It fell off Cinderella's foot well into Southampton Row just as the line of traffic, led by that black cab, headed for the young maiden.  And it fell off (here's the second thing) just as she tripped.  That in itself was an event, wasn't it?, compelled by the light turning against her -- she lost the shoe, and the cab was going to run over both it and its former wearer, who now was keeping a semblance of balance while flopping across the street.  Wasn't that what we were seeing?  Flopping?

Prince Charmant (but no...he was more like a middle-aged, occasionally obtuse but generally amiable academic) ventured forth in a moment of coherence and rescued the magic slipper just as Cinderella popped up on the curb opposite, turned, and watched the unsuccessful traffic stream by her.  The stepsisters (and stepbrother) and Prince Charmant (hitherto known as...um...Bob) looked in disbelief after the princess.

The question in her eyes was plain: "my shoe?!"  It was safe.  The angels heralded its safe return, and Bob held up the slippy slipper to display the miracle.  Cheers were heard from spectators in Russell Square.  The pigeons, admittedly, cared very little and as usual pooped a lot.

Southampton Row.  Stepsisters.  One stepbrother.  One Bob.  The magic slipper that slipped.  A cab.  A deadly line of traffic.  Flopping.  The event is all there with the rejoicing.