Of course now that I have new socks, my shoes are jealous, and much-shamed.

Now, my shoes have lasted much longer than they really should have. But they were old already when I started staying home or rather when I stopped going out. Still they’re in rough shape. When I walk down the hallways they squeak something awful. And the bits are coming unglued. I try to manage stepping (at least in the halls) so that I don’t painfully squeak. But it’s pointless to try. My shoes insist on announcing the sorry news of just how slovenly they are, my shoes.

The top of the shoe, the leather bit that is meant to bubble over where the toes go has collapsed into funny craters. And the bottoms of my shoes have been perfectly smoothed. It has happened a few times that Murphy has knocked me on my ass. When it’s really cold as it is now, my feet get very cold very quickly even in my new socks. And when it’s warmer, my feet get very wet very quickly.

Perhaps I should send my Fetcher to get me some new shoes. But I’m very fussy. Black of course, which isn’t a terribly fussy start. I really dislike the trend in footwear of squared off toes. Everybody looks like they are walking around with duckbills on their feet. So no square toes. I also like what I call a half boot. It’s bigger than a shoe but smaller than a boot.

Fussy or not, it seems like a reasonable request; after all I did get my Fetcher shoes for Christmas which seems, now, more charitable than it did then, when I really should have got shoes for myself. Yes, I’ve quite made up my mind. My new socks need new shoes.

SS