I’m a big shoe fan. My 7-year-old equally adores shoes and has nearly as many as me. Between us, we appreciate a pretty shoe, a bargainous shoe and reluctantly, a necessary shoe. It’s that time of year to shop for necessary shoes. Shoe shops dust down their ticket machines and brace themselves for the onslaught. After six weeks of slumming it in (gorgeous flower-embellished) flip-flops, the kids need shoes. For School. And now our Tiddler is toddling, she needs shoes too. But she can have pretty impractically coloured ones.
Despite the knowledge that we were shopping for necessary shoes, my shoeaholic child was true to her genetics and hopelessly excited about the trip. She revelled in the measuring process, marvelled at how her feet had grown……and then was disappointed when presented with a very limited, very boring selection of shoes. She’d hoped for a lovely shiny patent with pretty embellishment but it wasn’t to be. Saying that, it was better than our Clarks experience two years ago when we patiently waited for 45 minutes to be served, had her feet measured and were presented with the ugliest pair of shoes known to man. Whoever designed them had not an ounce of taste. Both of us verging on tears, we hurried from the shop and have never returned. Since we discovered Junior Choice in Rushden, we’ve never looked back and generally won’t shop anywhere else.
So it was to Junior Choice we headed with the Tiddler. She was fed. She was napped. She had a dummy to hand. There was nothing more she could require. What happened next, I can only imagine, must be down to her not sharing an enthusiasm for shoes with her sister and I. Poor child must get that from her father. Oh well.
There was minor grumbling as the shop assistant began to attempt measuring her feet. This was followed by persistent foot wiggling and then full-on kicking. The assistant retreated and called reinforcements. An older lady approached with a much more no-nonsence approach and the Tiddler eyed her with suspicion. A foot was grabbed, a stuffed squirrel brandished. A full blown tantrum was born. It took her sister and I to fully restrain her, one shop assistant to hold a leg and the other to measure. Meltdown ensued. Other shoppers averted their gaze. I laughed nervously. The shop assistants scurried off to find suitable shoes (with the only criteria being “cute”).
As a perfect pair of red patent beauties emerged from the first box, my eyes lit up and I knew we’d found The Ones. Tiddler had other ideas and just as her foot-measuring tantrum began to subside, so began the shoe-wearing tantrum. Employing earlier techniques, the shoes were fitted……and she refused to walk.
“Er…does she walk all the time…?” enquired the shop assistant of my rebellious, screaming child, whose face was almost the same colour as the beautiful shoes.
And with a nervous laugh, I paid for the shoes (as much as I’d pay for a pair for myself!) and we hastily left.
Upon our arrival at home, Tiddler could not wait to get the shoe box out the bag. She threw off the lid, plucked a shiny red shoe from amid the tissue paper wrapping and proclaimed “Ooooooo!” as she turned it over in her hands. She then attempted to put it on herself. Pfffft.
(The cinderella dress is coming on a treat in case you were wondering….)