Friday, 4 December 2009
A few weeks ago The Boy stomped home from school and barked that the soles of his school shoes were flapping in the wind. And it was raining. My fault on both counts. Especially the rain as it was making his hair stick up like a twat. Yes my flap shoed twatty haired son was Not Happy. And all because I’d bought him cheap school shoes.
The thing was he refused to come shopping with me to buy another pair so I had to guess the sort of shoes he might like. Alas the only pair available in his size were plain black with the words Boys World emblazoned on the inside sole. Not outside for the world to see but on the inside sole where his feet would be unless fashions have changed so much that he is supposed to wear shoes inside out.
As I unpacked the groceries he picked up the new shoes and regarded them as though I had presented him with a pair of freshly deposited dog turds with laces. Muuuuum. I mean are you kidding or what? No No No. He backed off and ran up the stairs as though I’d just suggested he wore ballet tights to school. I honestly couldn’t see what was wrong with them. How wrong can you go with plain black shoes?
Very wrong apparently. The next day I received a phone call from school. He is not allowed to wear trainers. I could hear The Boy in the background moaning But the shoes she got me are crap! Everyone’s been asking me why I’m wearing black cereal boxes on my feet! Then the teacher saying: I’m sorry but you can’t wear trainers. It’s a school rule. Even if your shoes are a bit . . did I hear the word crap?
Later that day he returned from school with a face like Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. I had to whip them off in games and quickly stuff them with socks in case anyone saw Boys World inside them he said mournfully. By this time I was so fed up that I promised to buy him another pair as long as he actually came with me and stopped bloody complaining. He was using the shoe trauma excuse to stop doing any of his chores. Post Traumatic Shoe Syndrome. Finally Husband snapped that if The Boy didn’t empty the damned bins he’d get a white marker pen and write Boys World on the outside of the shoes as well.
I thought this meant Husband was on my side. But later on as I was examining the hated objects and puzzling over what was quite so terrible about them, I caught Husband looking at me with a expression he usually wears when forced by me to watch Extreme Skinny Z list Celebrities. I’m sorry he said but they really are crap shoes.
Are they really that bad (she whines).