Smashed to Smithereens
As the midnight chimes faded, two aging sisters, primped and preened in frills and feathers, staggered out of the palace doorway.
“Give me a hand down these steps,” says one, swaying at the most alarming angle. “I think I overdid it with the champagne.”
“What’s this?” says the other, feeling queasy as she bent down to pick up a tiny glass slipper which was gleaming in the moonlight. “Oops, butterfingers, dropped it now! Never mind, wouldn’t have fitted us anyway.”
The next day a charming prince, finding the shards on the step, cried for a lost love.