SINGING TO SHOES

Some stories are so sweet that to not share them would be selfish.

Recently, I found myself at a dinner party discussing mens shoes. The conversation was rather amusing. He wanted to buy a new pair of shoes that he would love looking at. The spoken adoration for these shoes that he had yet to find, was a descriptive search for future and enduring happiness. It was a shoe bonding moment with mutual respect and how could one not encourage such passion.

I had forgotten completely about the conversation until I received this message.

"I must have been six years old when I got a new pair of Clarks sandals. Single buckle, domed toe, chestnut brown, room to grow. I loved those new shoes very much. I loved them mostly because they were new but being only six this was my first infatuation and it was serious (only ever beaten by my first crush... Shirley Bassey, Jeez, I am gay).

I talked to those shoes all the time telling them how much I loved them. One day, during school assembly, I was yanked out by my ear and marched to the head-teacher's office for causing a disruption. My crime; Singing to my new shoes. My punishment: No singing to shoes in school and no milk at break-time. I haven't sung to a shoe since."
 

Inspired to find those shoes, that certain happiness and move beyond the unnecessary repression inflicted at a young age, he wanted to go shopping. More importantly, I was needed to guide this quest. Laughing out loud, how could I refuse. I was also six when my innocence and love for a pair of Wonder Woman underoos was squashed by a teacher in front of my classmates. Damage control can come at any age.

Cloth bags, shoe trees and a beautiful Barkers pair later, the dream of obtaining boxed happiness is complete. My smirking apologies to his flatmate if songs of shoe adoration waft through the air in the coming weeks.