Runway Slip

I scouted the glossy coffee table and decided it was my personal high-fashion runway. Chin up, shoulders squared, boots clicking with absolute authority—I strutted straight toward the edge! But my floor-length hair had other plans. Mid-turn, my heel caught the trailing strands. I wobbled, windmills spinning with both arms, and plunged straight into an open, empty tissue box! Now I am wedged half-in, half-out like an avant-garde pop-up sculpture, surrounded by fluffy white paper. A dramatic debut, to say the least!