The working title for this was “Thoughts on Nude Heels” because, frankly, I am delighted to have had any thoughts of any description recently, even if they are on shoes, so I dropped everything and ran for a pen to write them down. I’ve been going through a funk lately you see and my funny seems to have funked off on me. Just. Can’t. Get. The. Head. Working.
It’s awful. I decided to go with the flow and take an enforced break but have discovered I can’t stop thinking about it and that’s making me worse. But then shoes tottered along to save the day.
Yay! Because who doesn’t love a good shoe?
This is the picture on Facebook today that perked me up.
I have been obsessing a bit of late about nude heels. Typically, when I have a glass of wine in hand and am in front of the computer, I browse websites to see what’s on offer. I must stress that I am after a pair of shoes that I can actually walk in. Not messing and will leave my street cred at the door because I don’t care how sexy and cool and elongate-y they make my legs, I must be able to get about in them. My car to bar shoe days are long gone.
Car to bar? You know; shoes that are so perfectly gorgeous and vertiginous you absolutely must have them only to discover on that first crucial maiden voyage, they will, just about, allow you to walk from the car to the bar. And that’s it. You look like a new-born calf in them such is your trouble walking.
I’m done with such palaver. I want a pair of shoes that look all that but are practical to boot.
I googled Clarkes. Yes, I know. Definitely showing my age. But Clarkes, similar to Rimmel make-up, have experienced a resurgence of late and they (Clarkes) are not horridious anymore. I did spot a gorgeous pair in my local Almost Nationwide store earlier on in the month but I was caught up in the more pressing matter of feking runners for the boys so I had to wipe my drool off the shoes I coveted and walk out with smelly feet runners instead.
One time I even left the kids in the car alone as I dashed into New Look to have a goo at their shoes. It was in there I finally had to face up to something I was desperately trying to ignore; I am not a size 5 anymore. The 6 was way too big and the 5 was akin to that Cinderella story. You know the one. My feet weren’t going anywhere in those shoes.
Sigh. Back out to the car.
The shite that happens to your body when you have kids. I swear to god. No wonder we need/want/covet shoes. Floating ribcages that don’t quite settle back. Large backs, wide hips, desperate PMS symptoms and fekin odd feet.
And then! Then! On yet another
fucking runners search I found them! The shoes.
Practical, pocket friendly and they aren’t nude. And they are in a size five and a half. And I love them.
And here is a picture of them.
|Def not car to bar!|
Thank you shoes for not breaking the bank and my feet and giving me something to write about. It’s better than chicken curry.