I have a pair of gold shoes.
They're cheap looking and quite overly priced.
I payed about 15 fine English pounds for them from Liverpool, St. Johns Market.
They have high heels, that aren't that high.
I've walked in higher.
The gold is so fake. Purely painted with a fine hint of imitation leather.
If they are meant to look real and expensive, I'm afraid they are failing.
I tried so many shoes on that day.
Pair after pair of faintly bearable shoes. Occasionally finding a pair that were so aesthetically pleasing that i was tempted into trying them on, in numerous sizes, before deciding i didn't actually like them that much.
There was a beautiful pair in a little shop that were truthfully perfect. They didn't have my size.
There was a pair that had little gold bows on the side that were so ugly i wanted to put them in their box and never punish anyone with ever again. In my desperation i tried them on and decided they were not all that bad after all.
I got the impression that i annoyed my fellow shoppers. I could tell they were sick of visiting the same shops over and over again whilst i 'just had another look..', they were just too polite to say anything.
Two - trillion tacky market stalls later, and up to my ankles in gold heels, i retreated to a rather smelly little hot-spot. The walls were lined with boots and flats and sandals and stilettos.
I set my eyes on a pair of perfectly gold heels that seemed no different to any of the shoes I'd tried on.
The girls, now more bored and restless than ever, told me that i might as well try them on.
So i did.
And i am pleased to inform you, i bought them.
I have a pair of tackily informal gold high heels that are a sickeningly fake shade of the most glamorous colour known to humanity.
They wernt perfect.
To be quite honest, i didn't like them that much.
I didn't try them on and suddenly lose my breath.
The world didn't stop.
My heart didn't sink and my eyes most certainly did not water.
But the little pair of shoes held a whole different kind of magic for me.
I stood waiting for my size, took off my boots, slipped into the new shoes and stood up; trying to get my balance on the uneven heels.
I looked over to the ripped puffets in the center of the stall where my friends were sat.
They were tired, hungry, sore, annoyed, stressed, bored and restless.
But there they sat, in all their imperfection-filled glory.
Entertainingly perched two-to-a-seat, laughing amongst themselves and nosily spying what shoes the woman across the way was trying on.
One of them looked over to me, noticing i was stood motionless.
"They're nice." She said, "They would go with your tights. Especially if you put a ribbon around the seem of your dress."
I smiled.
I wasn't all that keen on the shoes.
But the memory i had made in them already was one i never wanted to lose.
They werent the nicest, prettiest or most figure-complimenting pair of shoes I'd ever tried on. Perhaps they werent even as nice as the long forgotten side-bowed pair from many, many shops ago.
But i bought them.
Knowing full well every time i put on that pair of shoes, i would think of the day i dragged the most influential people in my life around all day. Against their will they were forced to spend the day wandering aimlessly around hot, stuffy shops in order to find something that wouldn't benefit them in anyway.
They didn't moan or complain.
They didn't even shout at me when i said we couldn't get any dinner until i had tried a few more shops.
Each and every time i put on my scuffed up, gloriously infamous gold heels; i get mixed feelings of guilt, appreciation and happiness.
Guilt - Purely because i don't give my loyal followers enough credit. No force in the world will ever let them know how much i undervalue them.
Appreciation - That i have them. That i have my shoes. That i had that enlightening moment in the least likely place imaginable.
And happiness - Knowing that i have people who are more than willing to put up with things to make me happy is something that will make me smile before i go to sleep. I don't mean that i enjoy being in charge, because i dont and I'm not. I mean in the sense that its what we do. As friends, you put up with the shittiness in order to reach the ultimate highs (may it be buying shoes, laughing until you cry or alternatively crying until you laugh.)
I know that no matter what happens. I have people who love me, no matter how selfish and inconsiderate i may be.
This is my promise; though pointless and insignificant it might be to you.
When i wear gold shoes. I am thinking about how much they mean to me.
I'm thinking about how lucky i am.
And I'm wearing them in memory of the hideously amazing days that Ive spent shopping with my girls.
Shoes are shoes.
But friends are so much more than a word.
Friendship is like the unmistakable feeling when you find the right pair of shoes.
Its fresh, new, and perfect. You suddenly lose your breath.
The world stops.
Your heart sinks and your eyes water.
And you can just tell that its important.
My pretty gold shoes.
Made me grateful for my even prettier gold friends.
They're cheap looking and quite overly priced.
I payed about 15 fine English pounds for them from Liverpool, St. Johns Market.
They have high heels, that aren't that high.
I've walked in higher.
The gold is so fake. Purely painted with a fine hint of imitation leather.
If they are meant to look real and expensive, I'm afraid they are failing.
I tried so many shoes on that day.
Pair after pair of faintly bearable shoes. Occasionally finding a pair that were so aesthetically pleasing that i was tempted into trying them on, in numerous sizes, before deciding i didn't actually like them that much.
There was a beautiful pair in a little shop that were truthfully perfect. They didn't have my size.
There was a pair that had little gold bows on the side that were so ugly i wanted to put them in their box and never punish anyone with ever again. In my desperation i tried them on and decided they were not all that bad after all.
I got the impression that i annoyed my fellow shoppers. I could tell they were sick of visiting the same shops over and over again whilst i 'just had another look..', they were just too polite to say anything.
Two - trillion tacky market stalls later, and up to my ankles in gold heels, i retreated to a rather smelly little hot-spot. The walls were lined with boots and flats and sandals and stilettos.
I set my eyes on a pair of perfectly gold heels that seemed no different to any of the shoes I'd tried on.
The girls, now more bored and restless than ever, told me that i might as well try them on.
So i did.
And i am pleased to inform you, i bought them.
I have a pair of tackily informal gold high heels that are a sickeningly fake shade of the most glamorous colour known to humanity.
They wernt perfect.
To be quite honest, i didn't like them that much.
I didn't try them on and suddenly lose my breath.
The world didn't stop.
My heart didn't sink and my eyes most certainly did not water.
But the little pair of shoes held a whole different kind of magic for me.
I stood waiting for my size, took off my boots, slipped into the new shoes and stood up; trying to get my balance on the uneven heels.
I looked over to the ripped puffets in the center of the stall where my friends were sat.
They were tired, hungry, sore, annoyed, stressed, bored and restless.
But there they sat, in all their imperfection-filled glory.
Entertainingly perched two-to-a-seat, laughing amongst themselves and nosily spying what shoes the woman across the way was trying on.
One of them looked over to me, noticing i was stood motionless.
"They're nice." She said, "They would go with your tights. Especially if you put a ribbon around the seem of your dress."
I smiled.
I wasn't all that keen on the shoes.
But the memory i had made in them already was one i never wanted to lose.
They werent the nicest, prettiest or most figure-complimenting pair of shoes I'd ever tried on. Perhaps they werent even as nice as the long forgotten side-bowed pair from many, many shops ago.
But i bought them.
Knowing full well every time i put on that pair of shoes, i would think of the day i dragged the most influential people in my life around all day. Against their will they were forced to spend the day wandering aimlessly around hot, stuffy shops in order to find something that wouldn't benefit them in anyway.
They didn't moan or complain.
They didn't even shout at me when i said we couldn't get any dinner until i had tried a few more shops.
Each and every time i put on my scuffed up, gloriously infamous gold heels; i get mixed feelings of guilt, appreciation and happiness.
Guilt - Purely because i don't give my loyal followers enough credit. No force in the world will ever let them know how much i undervalue them.
Appreciation - That i have them. That i have my shoes. That i had that enlightening moment in the least likely place imaginable.
And happiness - Knowing that i have people who are more than willing to put up with things to make me happy is something that will make me smile before i go to sleep. I don't mean that i enjoy being in charge, because i dont and I'm not. I mean in the sense that its what we do. As friends, you put up with the shittiness in order to reach the ultimate highs (may it be buying shoes, laughing until you cry or alternatively crying until you laugh.)
I know that no matter what happens. I have people who love me, no matter how selfish and inconsiderate i may be.
This is my promise; though pointless and insignificant it might be to you.
When i wear gold shoes. I am thinking about how much they mean to me.
I'm thinking about how lucky i am.
And I'm wearing them in memory of the hideously amazing days that Ive spent shopping with my girls.
Shoes are shoes.
But friends are so much more than a word.
Friendship is like the unmistakable feeling when you find the right pair of shoes.
Its fresh, new, and perfect. You suddenly lose your breath.
The world stops.
Your heart sinks and your eyes water.
And you can just tell that its important.
My pretty gold shoes.
Made me grateful for my even prettier gold friends.
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