Now, despite my enormous feet, I am rather partial to a shiny new pair of shoes. There’s nothing quite like bringing home a boxed set of lovelies and gently sliding them into the wall of heels, so as to avoid a Jenga avalanche at the back of the wardrobe.
Shoe shopping is indeed a beautiful thing, but today’s excursion was almost other-worldly in its deliciousness. The shoes were not for me, but for The Little Perfect One.
I am struggling with the idea that his first pair of scrummy brown big-boy walking shoes are not actually edible. Five G? That can’t be a size. It must be a grade of chocolate.
I realise that I am being ridiculous. I do know that almost being reduced to tears by tiny boats of leather and Velcro is a little nutty.
However, I am not alone...
Hoobiz is right there with me and the shop assistant smiles kindly as if she’s seen it a thousand times before.
Very few people, it seems, can walk past a pair of teeny trainers or baby boots without saying ahhh!
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