I hate buying new shoes.
I had, generally, a nice weekend. Pottered around the V&A on Saturday, vegged around the flat reading and listening to music on Sunday. But on Saturday (dum-dum-dum) I bought new shoes. Or boots really. Whatever.
Worse, I wasn't on my own. Usually, I'm pretty much a bungee-shopper; dive into the shop, grab something which isn't actually offensive, buy it, and out. If I try them on to make sure that they fit, that's dawdling. But this time, I had Michael and Caroline with me, and they wanted me to browse. Shudder.
Now, Michael's my oldest friend. Though he's the quintessential metrosexual, he knows me better than anybody. He accepts me for the retrosexual (AKA slob) that I am, and keeps his contempt for my fashion sense to himself. Caroline, his sister, wasn't quite able to hide her disgust, though.
All this, and my new shoes hurt like hell. Sigh.Posted to Apropos of nothing by Simon Brunning at March 15, 2004 01:29 PM