We are having a real shoe crisis in our house. Daughter 4’s shoes are still somewhere between the hospital and an orthotics manufacturer, so she is wearing the closest thing we could find to school shoes in her size, which are daughter 1’s black leather converse. They are slightly too big for her, but the cool factor seemed to offset that and there wasn’t a fuss.
After daughter 2 being initially quite sceptical about the Oxfam shoes that I bought her, to replace the expensive shoes dog 2 chewed, her and FaceTime friend found the very same model, brand new in Jones with a price tag of £87 reduced to £45 and that seemed to give the shoes enough kudos to start wearing them. She did, however, have to have a short break to let the blisters heal. In the meantime she is wearing black Nike Air Max trainers to school, again, without a fuss.
Last Thursday evening she announced that the next day was the day she would start wearing her Oxfam shoes again – the blisters had all but healed and I was happy.
It was later on Friday evening that it occurred to me that wine, dogs and shoes with tassels are not a good combination, when, with an air of deja vu, dog 2 appeared in the sitting room with the Oxfam shoe, tasselless in his mouth. Yet again, we had taken our eyes off the shoes. We were back to square one. Back to the trainers.
Yesterday daughter 2 came home from school with an update. Student Services took my shoes, she said, so matter of factly that I wondered whether it was for some sort of social experiment; and they gave me a horrible pair to wear, she continued. I have to report to Student Services every day to get a horrible, uncomfortable pair of shoes to wear and take them back at the end of the day, when they give me back my shoes. This is a school, I thought to myself, that has come across the problem of girls wearing inappropriate footwear before. After we had all managed to stop laughing at the thought of the incredibly style-conscious and easily embarrassed daughter 2 in a ill fitting pair of someone else’s pumps, I did feel slightly sorry for her and promised to have a quick scout round the charity shops today. Please can I have proper shoes from a proper shop, she pleaded. What if someone had a smelly feet, or dirty toenails, she keeps going, clutching at straws. I give dog 2 a withering look. It’s Friday tomorrow, I reply. Perhaps I’ll leave shoe buying until the weekend.