So… I am standing outside Russell and Bromley gazing in at the shoes.

wanting beautiful shoes
Gazing in at the beautiful shoes inside…

Some are frankly ridiculous – who wears gold shoes?  Who would want to wear gold shoes?  But I digress… Some of the shoes are ridiculous, but some are achingly beautiful.  It is a Saturday morning and I have other things I could be doing, lots of other things I should be doing, but I’m not doing any of them. Instead, I am lost, completely caught up in the desire to own a pair of the highest, heeliest shoes in the window.  They are red suede with just a hint of platform. Oh God, I really want them.  I want them now.  This minute.  I enter the shop.

Red suede shoes. High heels. Platform stilettos
The highest heeliest shoes in the shop

I walk to the central display on which the wonderful red shoes have been placed.  It reminds me of an altar; how apt – I am a worshipper. One of the temple’s handmaidens sidles up to me, “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I nod. I seem to have lost the power of speech.  “Would you like to try them on?”  I nod again.

Of course, if the beautiful, red shoes had not fitted, all would have been well.  I would have been disappointed, but I would, in time, years, or perhaps even as little as a few months, have got over it.  I would have left the shop without the shoes, but with more money in my bank account.  Of course, you just know that isn’t what happened.

The handmaiden reappeared and knelt before me to put the shoes upon my eager feet.  And lo, they did fit, like a glove, well, perhaps more like a shoe.  And I did stand and glide about the shop. Perhaps that verb should have been teeter or even stumble, but in my head I felt like I was gliding. On air.  It was a glorious moment. “I’ll take them,” I said, thrusting my credit card at her really quickly, before my saner, sensible self could re-assert herself.  And even as I bounced excitedly out of the shop carrying the red shoes away with me, I knew, in all probability, I would never wear them.

 

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