Monday, March 12, 2007

I put my new shoes on

I put my new shoes on

One by one we pour out of Sela and into the street.

"I need you all to wait whilst I change my shoes!"

I try and make this sound as normal as possible in the hope that this will pass without comment. In reality I know that this is about as likely as my becoming a deck shoe convert.

"Your shoes?"

At this moment, from the depths of my very distressed, very silver Oasis bag, I pull out a pair of pumps. Like Mary Poppins. Only more useful when you've been drinking.

"You've brought another pair of shoes!"

The hilarity with which this is greeted would suggest that I am possibly the first person in the world to do this. In response I try and maintain as much dignity as possible, something which is somewhat hard to do after three hours of vodka and cokes even when you're not stood in the street with one shoe off and one shoe on.

Possibly on account of the alcohol I decide that reason is the way forward.

"These shoes " - I demonstrate my utterly lovely, silvery, bronzey, peep-toed, high heeled shoes - "are beautiful but they hurt when I walk in them. These shoes" - holding out one of my slightly scuffed, slightly worn out of shape, black ballet pumps - "are not as beautiful but I can walk in them".

The reaction to this lesson seems to be split along gender lines. I get admiring ooohs from the girls and claims that they too may do this in the future. The boys, however, are much less enthusiastic about the whole issue, choosing to stand and smirk, possibly on account of the fact that none of them have ever walked across Leeds in 3 1/2 inch heels. This, I feel it is safe to say, is the gender gap in action.

With as much dignity as I can muster - I am 24 and their boss afterall - I calmly put away my heels and fasten my bag.

"I'm ready to go now".

I say it as if I've been in control of this entire thing, when the fact that everyone has waited undoubtedly has more to do with their bemusement than anything to do with me.

Five minutes later we arrive at our next destination - just after J has finished furnishing everyone with the details as to why she has labelled the dress I am wearing my "mischief dress" and I consequently spend the remaining time of the walk trying to convince everyone that I am not morally bankrupt. Given this there's no hope for any dignity in the whole shoe swapping process.

"You've got to wait for me whilst I change my shoes back!"

It comes out as a shriek. I don't need to look up to know that History Boy is rolling his eyes.

"All this time it's taking". This comes from Currently-Bleached-Attendant. I wonder if it's morally wrong to put him on toilet duty on his next shift.

"But it would have taken 20 minutes to get here if Corinne hadn't changed them" J interjects, the reasonable-ness of the shoe plan clearly being only understood by girls.

"Plus I would have moaned. All the way here. And you wouldn't have wanted that - trust me". I smile at Currently-Bleached-Attendant in my best don't even go there smile, aware as I am that only a couple of people in the assembled group have heard me rant.

"Next time I'll know what to put in my man-bag - another pair of shoes!" History Boy smirks. This is allowed. He used to term 'man-bag' after all. I suspect he is spending too much time with Dean.

"You should do" I smile back, one shoe on, one shoe off.

"You know - I prefer you in those". History Boy gestures to the the right ballet pump which is hanging forlornly in my hand.

I do a little double take. History Boy giving me footwear advice. This really is turning into a surreal night.

I stand in my silvery, bronzey, peep-toed, high heeled shoes and look at him.

"Now you tell me".

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