We’ve all experienced that high – the initial burst of ecstasy that has you scrambling to the tills in the manner of a crazed zombie from a cheap horror flick. No, you didn’t just find a Johnny Depp look-a-like offering his eternal love and devotion to you; we haven’t all experienced that high. Although if you have, feel free to point me in the direction of whichever shop has him on sale…
No, I’m talking about new shoes. Perfect, beautiful shoes that look like they were made just for me. Slipping my feet inside, it feels like they’ve been waiting for this special moment ever since their creation (lovingly crafted by nuns in a small cottage in the countryside, I’d imagine). A bright light shines down upon me from the heavens. Angels sing ‘hallelujah’. The price tag says ’50% off’. Within seconds I have been transformed from Boring and Miserable, to Simply Fabulous with Fantastic Shoes. The angels carry me home, already preparing me for the hundreds of amazing nights out these shoes are destined to provide me with.
Of course, the dream doesn’t last long.
A short time into their first wear, one of my toes feels a slight pinch. This is similar to finding your Johnny Depp look-a-like owns a CD by Jedward – rather concerning, but not necessarily an emergency. “Don’t be silly,” I tell myself. “You’re fine. Power through.” Just push that CD to the back of the shelf. Ignore the painful shoes. Keep walking. But let’s face it, that plan never works… and sometime within the next 10 minutes I’m in absolute agony. “Do we really need to walk to the next pub? Are you sure we can’t call a taxi?”
The Fantastic Shoes hate me. They want me to cry. They definitely don’t want me to dance. God, they won’t even let me walk the 15 steps to the bar where I could get another vodka to numb the pain. Your Depp look-a-like just revealed he is in fact wearing a very sophisticated latex mask, underneath which he resembles a yeti. In other words: utter disaster.
An entire box of plasters has been haphazardly slapped onto my feet, to the extent that the shoes now need to be two sizes bigger to cater for all the padding. My slight limp is turning into a fully-fledged pirate stagger, and I am loudly cursing every pair of shoes in existence.
There’s nothing quite like waking up on a Saturday morning with a hangover and two completely black feet where, at some time before the end of the night, I decided that walking bare-footed through the city would be far less painful than wearing the Demon Shoes for any longer. After picking the small pieces of glass out of my feet, I can confirm that this was true.
Next time I’m wearing slippers!
Nikki – Jan 22nd 2011