Thursday, July 20, 2006

Confessions of a shoe fetishist

I’ve forgotten the unique pain and agony that goes along with a new pair of boots. Clunking about in my new cycle boots has me longing to ditch the their stiff leather form and slip into my well-worn pair of doc martins and give my poor sore feet a rest. Alas, that is not the case. Boots must be broken in, a painful ritual, a rite of passage perhaps for the wearer to bond with said footwear.

I still say it sucks. For the past week I have been lumbering about in these damn things like a toddler wearing his father’s wing tips, I teeter about and trip over nothing. Gone is my usual confident stride, or as Dancer would describe it... “that tiger-ish, shoulder-hip stalk of yours”. Oh well, soon these boots will bend to my will and form to my shape. Then, then I can swagger in them. You see, dear reader, one cannot, when wearing 17 in high motorcycle patrol boots, simply walk into a room. No they must swagger, just a bit.

On a lighter note, my shoe obsessed wife, Tambo, has found this process far, far too funny. You see, over the now 2 decades that we have been together I teased her for her ever-growing collection of footwear. Seems like right before any event we attend, she is finding yet another new pair of shoes. However, she staunchly denies having a shoe fetish. Insisting rather that I do.

Her rational?

“You see it is like this. I’m a shoe aficionado, a fan of shoes. I find shoes that go well with outfits that I already have. You, my dear, are a shoe fetishist. You bought a pair of boots and are now planning an entire wardrobe based on said footwear”

Well maybe but in my defense, one must cater to such boots. I mean you can’t just tuck these bad boys into a pair of 501’s and call it good. No, you need jodhpurs and maybe a Sam Brown police belt (complete with a shoulder cross over belt) and …

Oh dear I think she might have a point?

Perhaps these demon boots will behave better after getting their first propper polishing at the hands of little Alex. Nothing like nimble, polished stained fingers to coax the stiffness from new leather.