In my forty-sixth year, in London, on Oxford Street, I am watching pedestrians walk by without even paying me a glance. Of course I don't blame them because first of all, I am tiny. Second, I am a dirty thing. And thirdly, I'm not even alive. At least, that's what these giants think. Involuntarily, I continue to stare their feet down.

Fancy Italian shoes.

Shoes needing a good rub.

And no shoes. Just feet covered in dirt and wet with filth.

I've observed many people, but no one ever turns my way. Well, like I've said, I'm tiny, dirty, and… Actually, it'd be politically inaccurate if I said "dead." I think "inanimate" is a much better description.

Having gotten lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the pair of shoes that had stopped in front of me. Unfortunately, I could do nothing but stare at the shiny dark brown loafers. Since they're a new sort of shoe, I've never really seen a pair of loafers. By the size of them, the owner must be a little boy. Oh dear, I must really be getting bored and old if I can tell one's appearance by their shoes.

Then suddenly, the owner of the shoes spoke.

"Mum! Mum!" a little boy called out.

"Yes, dear?" I glanced over and noticed a nice set of red stilettos next to the small loafers. It looked as if the owner of the stilettos was walking until the boy with loafers stopped her.

"Mum," the boy said in a whining tone, "I want her."

Did he mean me?

The lady in stilettos chuckled, "But dear, that one is so filthy. Come, Daddy and I will get you something much nicer at the toy shop."

But just as I thought they were going to walk away, I heard the boy wail, "No, I want that one!" He does mean me.

"Fine," she sighed.

At that moment, my life took an uplifting turn of events.