New Shoon

These are my new shoes, bought yesterday in a bout of retail therapy.

They are posh grown up shoes with hard soles, thin laces and very small but distinct heels.

They are a far cry from my perennial trainers and pink shoes with the soft soles.

They make a definite statement on the pavement, letting passers-by know that their wearer is someone who brooks no nonsense: she is a paid up, tax paying member of the sisterhood of women.

The satisfying clunk on the pavement with each step reminds me of childhood when, to prevent undue wear on school shoes, I might be rewarded with a metal segs on the back of the shoe heels.
How I loved that metallic ring when I put my foot down. I liked to think it sounded like boys' tacketty boots.

You see, at heart I am no Lady: I only masquerade as one, unsuccessfully, according to His Lordship.
I can't walk in high heels and have never ever hankered after a pair of Jimmy Choo extravaganzas. With small feet and that size of heel, it would be like walking on points.
No, I am happiest in sporty trainers, but sometimes there comes a time when a smart pair of shoes cuts the mustard and I surprise myself with the mature feeling it engenders.