Death of a Tiger

There comes a time in a girl’s life when she has to say goodbye to her favourite shoes. In my case my gold Onitsuka Tiger trainers had become more perilous than practical - through many years of hard wearing the tread was smoother than Wayne Rooney’s head before the hair plugs. As such, going out in them in wet weather left me looking particularly unglamorous as I skidded haphazardly from lamppost to lamppost (the image of a giraffe ice-skating comes to mind). Reaching the decision that I am too young for a hip-replacement, the Tigers had to go.

But, I’m rather sentimental about my Tigers (obviously because of the name) but also because I bought around the time I met the Husband in Edinburgh and those shoes had a frolicking first summer. My fondest memory is of a secret garden party in Princes’ Street Gardens. I had carelessly kicked off my Tigers in order to slip into an inflatable sumo wrestling fat-suit and wrestle my dear, not-yet-Husband to the ground. Unfortunately whilst I was pummelling his face into the dirt (ah, the early days of dating) some heartless NED threw one of my shoes onto the marquee tent roof. Upon learning the fate of my shoe I ranted and raved and pulled a face akin to a bulldog chewing on a pissy nettle.

The not-yet Husband took this opportunity to be a manly hunter-gatherer and so shimmied up the nearest tent pole to retrieve my hijacked property. This not too subtle manoeuvre immediately alerted the party police. The dispatched security guard was then commandeered by one wild haired, red-faced crazy lady (moi), hobbling about in one shoe and demanding that he 'get her Tiger off the roof’. My tigers were eventually reunited after a bit of poking at the roof with a broom handle (and no that's not a euphemism).

Sadly despite their fabulous history my feline footwear is past its prime. Taking their replacement very seriously I have studied various fashion and gossip magazines until I spotted a well known British Radio D.J in a delightful pink pair of canvas shoes that I knew would look just peachy on my Tiger-less toes. Imagine then my delight in discovering the exact pair in a local shoe shop. I immediately tried them on and admired my new almost celebrity self in the mirror, aided by young and trendy shop assistant:

Trend-assistant: What do you think?

Me: Oh, I do rather like them.

Trend-assistant: We’ve only just started stocking them. They’re very popular all of a sudden.

Me: [Attempting to be hip with my up to date fashion knowledge] Yeah, I saw a pic of Fearne Cotton wearing them, I think that’s why people have COTTONED on to them.

Trend-assistant: [Looks at me with complete distain] Riiight.

Me: [Looking puzzled at Trend-assistant’s sudden coldness, mental replay reveals my error] No horrendous pun intended of course. Hee-hee [Annoying high-pitched girly laugh] I’ll take them.

Trend-assistant: [His facial snurtle indicates that despite the purchase it is too late, my innate geekiness has been revealed] I’ll box these up for you.

Documentary proof that I'm turning into that weird old woman who peppers her conversation with words like 'cool' and 'homie' in an attempt to be hip with the kids...but at least my feet look good.