Flashback to my last shoe shop visit. 17 year old salesman with sharp pointy black winklepickers comes up. "Hi guys," he says. Which is a bad start.
"There must be some mistake," I say, "I do appreciate that you have to be gender-neutral about these things, but my wife here has been personally certified by me to be female. Can we proceed on that basis?"
No comment from Mr shiny-shoes. "So what sort of style were you looking for, sir?". (Not "are", but "were". Hmmm, another bad omen, I think.)
"Oh, just another pair like these." And I pull up my trouser leg to show him my trusty footwear. He sniggers.
"Hush Puppies, sir? And (barely controlled hysterics) slip-ons? I think my granddad's got a pair like those, sir. No sir, I think you'll struggle to find a pair like those nowadays."
"Well that's all I want," I say. "Have you got any or haven't you?"
"These days we'd call them boat shoes, sir. With flat soles and heavy stitching. They appeal to gentlemen of a certain age, sir."
"Well I've always called them Cornish pasties, and they're not boat shoes, and they're not going on my bloody feet, no way. Not with those leather laces and the stupid porthole rivets in the sides. I do have some pride, you know."
"Try these, sir. Our Basingstoke Tara Docker collection is a new line, selling like hot cakes." Which, I reflect, may be because it's got TUFF embossed in large letters on the sides, instead of the usual FCK U or HUGE, or maybe some American basketball player's signature. But what do I know? I'm lost in a shoe shop, generationally adrift and drowning fast.
It goes on. What size do I take? How the hell do I know, I reply? I've got wide feet, so it might be anything between an eight and a half and an eleven if it's an Italian shoe. "Sorry sir, we don't do these in half sizes," he says, with some predictability. "We find it's only older customers who want those. Our younger ones just buy them tight and wait for the fabric sides to stretch out a bit." (FABRIC?)
....... So that was my last failed attempt to buy shoes. Jeezuz, and the wife I've got to do it again. There's nothing wrong with my shoes that any of my mates would notice, but the female of the species seems to have evolved in a different way. Here I go, then, off into sartorial no-mans-land with my credit card ready and my expectations low. I may be gone some time.
![Sad :(](./images/smilies/icon_e_sad.gif)
BJ