Shopping, my foot

Thanks to a dog running off with my favorite pair of shoes, and my sister’s, and my cousin’s, we found ourselves shopping for shoes. Recipe for instant hell.

I have exceptionally tiny feet. My cousin has exceptionally large feet. And my sister is extremely choosy.

Three long whiny hours. Walking around hunting for more and more footwear stores. Exhausting all the shop assistants. Feeling thrice the frustration we would if we were doing this alone. If it’s not the colour, it’s the comfort. And when both are fine, you never, ever, ever find it in your size, goddammit. I swear, if I hear the phrase “Sorry madam, we don’t manufacture in this size” one more time, I’ll say “I protest!”, and hurl a shoe. Or maybe I won’t…. coz shoes my size are rare as a Rafflesia (ooh, new simile which is even an alliteration!). When the last of us found a pair for which we screamed out “Oh, it fits! It fits!”, we were ten times happier than the Prince when he found Cinderella’s foot fit the glass slipper and yelled out the same words.

Oh, bloody hell, if Cinderella had as tiny and beautiful feet as the stories say, the only way she’d be able to get nice shoes was if she had a Fairy Godmother.

Talking of which, I wish I had a fairy godmother who’d give me shoes that fit.

And…. I still seem to like dogs better than cats. Surprising, given that I’ve been bitten by one, been chased by a family of six dogs, had one run off with my shoes, almost been attacked by one while attempting to photograph it… and had one stink my room up when it ran in to take shelter from the firecracker-rich Diwali atmosphere outside…. who knows, maybe I’ll be more popular than Cinderella sometime later.