the most comfortable shoes in the world
There has been a lot of talk amongst my peer group, of late, regarding age and (dare I even say) growing old. It seems that late twenties has become the new forties and we’re all desperately trying to stop the clock. Fox remarked, after watching Marley and Me, that if we were to get a dog now, by the time it dies we will likely have hit forty. Emotional tyre screech moment. Talk about an unwelcome reality check.
Considering that I still get ID’d when I try and purchase a bottle of wine from the supermarket, age is not something that I find myself losing sleep over. I do, however, have rare moments where I consider my time and then question whether I’ve done enough to feel like I have used my years to achieve anything of significance. Because this is really what the fear of age boils down to, is it not? I don’t worry about growing old. I worry that I will grow old, look back on my life and wonder if there was more I could have done.
Last week, I was once again hit with the reality of becoming “grown up” when I went shopping. For someone who has affectionately been known as the family shopaholic from the time she knew what money was, I have done very little spending over the last few months. This in itself is noteworthy but it was more my approach to the whole outing that sent shockwaves through my being. For everything I looked at, before buying, I considered whether it was a sensible purchase. Since when do I worry if my purchases are sensible? Hello! As long as a pair of shoes looks good, it doesn’t matter that your feet look nothing short of mangled at the end of the day; it matters that for the time that you could endure the pain, your feet looked hot!
Now this is the real shocker. Rather than walking into Topshop or Aldo and finding myself a pair of fashionista-approved heels, I walked away with two pairs of practical pumps from…Clarks?! I mean, no discredit to Clarks but they are not renowned for offering the most beautiful shoes ever made. As I walked away, Clarks bag hanging subdued at my side, it suddenly dawned on me that I am becoming the level-headed, rational people in my life who, for years, have known that life is hard enough without forcing yourself to walk the journey in shoes that give you blisters. They aren’t called killer heels for nothing.
Now I might be resisting growing up but if these new shoes are anything to go by then it really can’t be all that bad. Because they are the most comfortable shoes I have ever owned.
Considering that I still get ID’d when I try and purchase a bottle of wine from the supermarket, age is not something that I find myself losing sleep over. I do, however, have rare moments where I consider my time and then question whether I’ve done enough to feel like I have used my years to achieve anything of significance. Because this is really what the fear of age boils down to, is it not? I don’t worry about growing old. I worry that I will grow old, look back on my life and wonder if there was more I could have done.
Last week, I was once again hit with the reality of becoming “grown up” when I went shopping. For someone who has affectionately been known as the family shopaholic from the time she knew what money was, I have done very little spending over the last few months. This in itself is noteworthy but it was more my approach to the whole outing that sent shockwaves through my being. For everything I looked at, before buying, I considered whether it was a sensible purchase. Since when do I worry if my purchases are sensible? Hello! As long as a pair of shoes looks good, it doesn’t matter that your feet look nothing short of mangled at the end of the day; it matters that for the time that you could endure the pain, your feet looked hot!
Now this is the real shocker. Rather than walking into Topshop or Aldo and finding myself a pair of fashionista-approved heels, I walked away with two pairs of practical pumps from…Clarks?! I mean, no discredit to Clarks but they are not renowned for offering the most beautiful shoes ever made. As I walked away, Clarks bag hanging subdued at my side, it suddenly dawned on me that I am becoming the level-headed, rational people in my life who, for years, have known that life is hard enough without forcing yourself to walk the journey in shoes that give you blisters. They aren’t called killer heels for nothing.
Now I might be resisting growing up but if these new shoes are anything to go by then it really can’t be all that bad. Because they are the most comfortable shoes I have ever owned.
Labels: experience
posted by foxy_roxtar at 7:49 AM
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