Thursday, 2 March 2017

Silver lady...

Well, after a few chasing emails from me, my new dance shoes turned up yesterday in time for last night's lesson.  Now there is some good news and some bad news about these...

The good news is that they turned up in time for last night's lesson, and that is where my positivity ends I'm afraid.  When I ordered these last week, you'll remember that I ordered them in plain black.  This was so my dancing partners wouldn't look at my new shoes and think I was better than I was.  Mind you, a glance across the church hall would have told them everything about my prowess where a Jig Flick is concerned.  So after ordering, I had a very polite email from the shop saying that they were completely out of stock of black in a size 7, and would I be happy with one of the following alternatives:

Multi-coloured glitter
Green glitter

Well I ruled out the first two immediately, as they contained the word 'glitter' in them.  Sparkly shoes scream out Strictly to me, and that's not what I want for the church hall.  Also, who has green glittery shoes unless you're playing Princess Fiona (the ogre version) in Shrek on Ice?  So I opted for Graphite, picturing a pair of dull grey shoes which wouldn't insult or offend anyone, and eagerly awaited their delivery.  When I got home yesterday, they had arrived, not in a box, but in a manila envelope.  Ripping back the paper, I was momentarily blinded.  It would appear that Graphite is a dance-shoe term for intense silver glitter. 

So slipping them on yesterday afternoon, I immediately felt like an oversized, out of season Christmas Fairy without the wand and tutu (thank goodness). I wore them round the house, shaking the legs of my flared dance trousers in the hope that they might shield some of the glare which was coming off the shoes as they reflected the light.  I am worried that I might find several scorch marks on the curtains, the glare was that strong.  I pictured my dancing friends slipping their RayBans on as we Lindy Hopped, all of them looking like a rather camp Blues Brothers tribute act.

Son number two came home just as I had put them on, holding them up to the lights and admiring the mirror-ball effect on my ceiling.  'What do you think of these?' I asked him, pointing one delicately in his direction.   Without even stopping to think, he just replied 'Well they're dancing shoes, so they're ok.  It's not like you're going to wear them in public or anything'.  How true...

These shoes will be confined to my handbag between home and the dance floor as they have suede soles and can't be worn outside.  They will be slipped on reverently under the table and then revealed to the dance class in all their gaudy, glittery glory. 

At which point, there will be silence.

And probably some nervous laughter...

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