When I was in Sydney last week, I bought some new shoes:
sneakers to replace current pair so treadless they are likely to land self on backside anytime soon.
So what? you think. No big deal.
But is big deal for following reasons:
1. Am tall, and have feet big enough to balance height. Sensible plan, yes? No, not according to shoe manufacturers of my youth, who believed girly shoes should be girly size, ie proportionate to 5’5’’ girlies maximum, not unnatural giants of 5’10”. Subsequent repeated humiliation annihilated any teenage burgeoning of interest in shopping for footwear (or clothes, come to that. Same problem.) Has never recovered.
2. Treadless sneakers only 8 years old, and only worn in winter. What is world coming to, that shoes not lasting forever?
But despite general antipathy to whole project, am thrilled with my new shoes! They fit! And what’s more, they are just marginally OTT for hoary old bat, thus providing sneaky fillip of rebellious pleasure. (But not mutton dressed as lamb, my children assure me, which would not be pleasurable but embarrassing.)
BUT… am having huge difficulty binning treacherous treadless pair and adopting new, funkier replacements owing to long, deep-seated aversion to watching new lose its shine and deteriorate into old and battered.
Har Har, you say. Clothes are meant to be worn, what you expect?
What I expect is that next time I want new shoes, will only be available my size in men’s dept, black or brown.
The lessons of youth are very sticky.