Shoes of Evil
I went shoe shopping last night. I hate clothes shopping in all its forms, and shoe shopping especially. Shoe shops are especially grim and unpleasant places for me. Overbright, over loud and staffed by unhelpful aliens, it's all I can do to get in and out as quickly as possible with the minimum of damage to dignity and wallet, and with a pair that will keep my feet dry for another six months before they fall apart. I usually only have about three pairs of shoes: one formal pair for weddings, funerals, job interviews, etc; one pair of good walking boots; and a regular casual pair that I wear 99% of the time. The latter were on their last legs (as it were), and so it was necessary for me to brave a local branch of Schuh. Pretty much every pair in their men's section was either hideous to look at, hideously expensive, or both. I suppose I could have shopped around (other listings magazines are available) but that would just have prolonged the experience, so I settled for a relatively un-hideous and fairly reasonable pair of plain-black Converse all-star wotsits. I was feeling pretty good about achieving my mission without spending too much cash, until at home R reminded me that Converse are owned by Nike nowadays and are therefore teh evilz. Not that my wardrobe, such as it is, can be said to be otherwise sweatshop-free, but I can't honestly claim ignorance in this case. Just panic.
She also pointed out that they'll probably last me about ten minutes before exploding, and are therefore something of a false economy. They are fucking comfy, though.
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