Which I think is Italian for the dog ate my shoes. It makes
a change from homework I suppose.
I am a shoe person. Shoes and bags. Probably because they
always look beautiful whatever size you wear. Not expensive shoes and bags, I
never spend a lot, and at least in the case of shoes, having long feet (sounds
more elegant somehow than big – essentially the same thing) means that I can
often find the right size lurking forlornly on the sale racks. I admire shoes,
like I rarely admire clothes, and the shoes in question were a much admired
pair.
Not pretty so much as classic. Tan leather, the smallest of
heels, high enough to wear with longer jeans, low enough to walk for hours
in. Casual enough for a trip to the supermarket, smart enough for work,
comfortable enough for an afternoon at the shops. In short, the ideal shoe.
They were pretty worn. The heels were long gone, and they clip-clopped
on hard floors where the metal had come through. I didn’t like wearing them if
I might have to take them off and reveal the discoloured, dishevelled lining.
They had come close to being disposed of on more than one occasion. I always
held back though, instead opting to keep them until I could find a replacement
pair.
I duly purchased some in a similar style for honeymoon, and
nearly put the early kibosh on the marriage as they scuppered our day trip
round Toronto, inflicting blisters the size of baseballs. So the replacements were put deep
in the back of the wardrobe on our return and the old faithfuls restored to that prized
position right at the front, ready and in reach.
Until last night. Last night when the dog seemed worryingly
quiet. Just a little too peaceful curled up at our feet under the kitchen
table. I am not naïve, I peered to see what was occupying her and was relieved to
see her chew toy in her paws. However clever I thought I was being, Millie was
smarter. The plastic bone may well have been in reach, however it was simply a
decoy. Behind it, out of view was one of the shoes. A shoe, which, when we
stood from the table, was in pieces. The elegant strip of leather that had been
folded into a bow on the front was now fragmented across the floor. Admittedly it was worn to begin with, but now it had more hole than sole.
The shoe, and its partner, have been binned. The search for a
replacement pair will have to begin. And perhaps the search for a replacement
dog too…
oh dear, I hope you can find a good replacement. (for the shoes not the puppy........... )
ReplyDeletethank you for your comments. Neither the shoes nor the puppy have been replaced, though the hunt for new shoes continues you will be pleased to hear that Millie is very much a permanent fixture!
DeleteAww so sad!! I guess this is a plus to me not being able to have a dog due to allergies...at least my shoes are safe!
ReplyDeleteshoes, teatowels, socks, doorframes, they are all safe! I wouldn't swap her though :) lovely to have a comment from you :)
DeleteOh what a shame. But you can't be cross with that sweet beautiful face and those big brown eyes.
ReplyDeleteyou really can't, I've tried! The minute you look at her it's pointless! thanks for visiting.
DeleteBeagles. Seriously. Lucky they are cute
ReplyDeleteabsolutely - those eyes get away with so much!
Delete