A friend of mine recently came across a competition in one of her many daily forwards and asked me to write an entry for her... The question being, "do you love shoes as much as we do?". So I did and a little while later they called her and invited her and a date, the date being me of course, to a shoe party as one of their finalists!
Here's what I wrote:
W.W.K.D, like those “What would Jesus do” material bracelets, I ask myself: what would Kate do? I ask this vital question to determine which pair of shoes will team best with my LBD (little black dress).
I don’t have much time, the shop assistant will only be busy at the cash register for a moment, her pesky peepers will soon be on me again.
I need a colour that is neutral, something which doesn’t imprison the ankle, I hate that. I stare out at the vast array of wonders before me, all polished and preened and ready to grace my unworthy yet desperate feet. A pair of Salvatore Ferragamo knee highs here, a pair of Christian Louboutin wedges there. Jewelled Miu Miu’s, magenta Yves Saint Laurent’s, shoes of every variety; metallic, satin, Swarovski Crystal, suede, studded, multi bow, my mind reels, my heart races.
I spot the perfect ankle boots as I risk a quick glance at the shop assistant, I have a few seconds at best. In what I hope is a casual manner, I glide toward the stacks of boxes beneath the shoe on show, size 5, size 7... No size 6! Damn.
I can feel the sweat beads forming on my hairline, I can hear the assistant and the customer exchanging farewell pleasantries, it’s now or never.
My weakness for pretending to fit into a 5 when in actuality I am a 6 takes over. In record time, I lift the lid off the box, stuff the pair in my oversized but oh-so fashionable bag and neatly, albeit hastily, arrange everything as was, not leaving a box out of place.
My heart pounding at an accelerated pace, I exit the door, and run.
I check the time as I run then round a corner to catch my breath. I have no more than 10 minutes to make it to the premiere. Checking to see if anyone noticed, staying absolutely still to hear for police sirens, I pull out the R989 pair of beauties and slip them on, well, it was more of a struggle than a slip, giving the old saying “desperate times call for desperate measures” an entirely new meaning.
Thanks to my Achilles Heel, grave desperation and, of course, my infinite love for all creatures that go on my feet, I’m on time and fashionably flushed, looking better than Kate ever could.
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