A broken soul

Some of you may remember my favorite shoes a few years back, the ones I got for Ronald Cordon Smith, in JMNReynold’s play Brownies for Christmas. A find of a find for 4 dollars. They were sleek black patent leather that I wore everywhere (if wearing shoes) till they fell apart… several times.

When I finally threw them out, after so effectively wearing through the sole of both shoes in multiple places, in Oxford, I bought a pair of dress shoes to replace them.

A pair of not quite as sleek, black patent leather shoes with a fabulous box toe for 18 pounds. They were painful, but fit the bill and the budget. And I wore them every day for several months, till they became soft, malleable, and comfortable.

They then served me as I worked at Starbucks, wearing them almost every day for nearly two years. That patent faux leather protected me from many scalding liquids, and became every more comfy such that I wore them even for our engagement photos — not because they were my best looking pair of shoes, but because they were the shoes I most identified with. And our (incredible) photographer said to wear things we were comfortable in.

But, sadly, they have long had a fissure, then crack, then crevice, then gaping chasm in the sole of first the right, then the left shoe.

While in England last, almost a year ago exactly, I had the express goal of finding a suitable replacement for these, well beloved, shoes. In fact, I found two. One black pair of snub toed oxfords and one brown pair of flat nosed Italian-style slip-ons.

But I still couldn’t bring myself to tossing that fabulous pair. Till now, with the culling of my wardrobe, I must, with heavy heart say fairwell to my dear friends. I’d call it Euthenasia, but I think these have been long dead.

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~ by jeorgesmith on 18 September 2009.

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