Yesterday I bought new shoes. I needed new shoes because I bought a suit (which I need for work). When the lady helping me measuring the length of my trousers (that’s standard here in London when you buy a suit, I didn’t know that, but learned something new) asked me if “those were the shoes I was going to wear with this suit”. I was about to say yes, when the look on her face told me that I probably wasn’t. I was wearing my Converse sneakers.
“Ehrm, no, I don’t think so” I told her.
“No, you’ll probably wear high heels with this won’t you?”
“Haha you must be out of your mind” was what I wanted to say, because me wearing high heels is as probable as me flying through space with Slartibartfast while watching Love Actually in his space ship. (I do fly through space with Slartibartfast, quite often as a matter of fact, but he doesn’t want to watch Love Actually, unfortunately).
“I can only measure those pants if you have the right shoes on” she said.
I walked into the first shoe shop I passed and fell in love with the first pair of shoes I saw in there, which is quite remarkable in itself. The other extraordinary thing about love is that it makes you blind, and suddenly I found myself standing outside the shop again with in my hands a bag with shoes for a price that I really wasn’t planning on spending on shoes at all. Ever.
Just to give you an impression of how posh they are: they come in a chocolate brown bag, in which you find a chocolate brown box, in which you find 2 cotton chocolate brown protection bags, and in each of those cotton bags you’ll find one shoe. I love the Brits for their poshness and I sometimes love to indulge in it.
So I went back to the suit shop, had my trousers measured with the right shoes on and I went home, now the owner of a sharp black suit and the poshest shoes I had ever owned. (And yes they were expensive, but they are truly beautiful, it’s a classic design that will last for years, they fit me like a glove.) So when going to Music to the Movies, I felt like wearing them. The Royal Albert hall is a pretty classic place and I thought that my shoes would feel at home there.
So I walked to Victoria station Sunday evening, with my new shoes, the rain not bothering me at all, because look at me people, I am wearing the-coolest-shoes in-the-world.
That sense of poshness didn’t last long I can tell you. I am, obviously, still in a period of bad karma. When I was close to the station and the rain was pouring down, and I was surrounded by way too many people, my posh shoes, with their leather soles, thought it would be a good time to let me down.
The wet street turned into something as slippery as ice, my shoes lost grip and
I am really not destined to be a posh girl. At all.