I've known I've needed new shoes for the last 8 weeks - ever since my other pair's sole broke laterally, and the sole rubber wore through and started falling off in clumps. Yeah - that's time - but still I clung to them. Until I was seduced yesterday by the cutest little flats in the world - and on sale too the vixens! Last pair - in nearly my size!
So now I am hobbling around with the gorgeous shoes that are just too tight across the top and nipping at the back and stabbing that right foot that is a quarter size bigger than the left. It's ok though, I have the old trusty pair here for in another hour or so when the pain is too much to bear. As I polished the old shoes this morning, it came back to me the first day I wore them, and how tight and unhappy they were to be leaving their box, a memory long faded in the 2 years since.
Then, as I made my morning cuppa, standing watching the tea bag do its thing, it aoccured that new shoes are a great metaphor for the process of leaving hearth and home and moving to the hot dusty frontier. It hurts, it rubs, it's hard to believe it will ever get any better and you forget why you wanted to change.
With material like that, I could be writing for Readers Digest!
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