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Tuesday, March 26, 2013

A Shoe

Last week, my lovely mother took me shopping in Tauranga in the hope that, should I ever get a job - I would have a couple of things to wear to start.  Firstly, of course, we stopped for Devonshire tea, with which my pot came out with the best tea cozy ever:
Isn't it gorgeous?!

And then - we did find: the most beautiful pair of shoes ever.

I tried on the 41 and it was too tight (as I knew it would be) so the lovely lady got on the computer to see if anyone in the country still had a 42; the computer then told her that she had one out the back, and that at first look for 'the biggest size' she must have missed it.

Oh happy day.

So these, dear lovlies, are my beautiful shoes:
Good shoe, good dog.

In the middle of that night, one of the dogs got a bit...bored. (Not.  My.  Dog.).  I had only taken them out of the box to try on again (how can you resist?) and to show Dad.  I then went to bed.

Big Mistake.

Dad was up first and found it on the lawn: I was so angry I gave myself an asthma attack.  I don't think Mum has spoken to her dog since (the little bugger never dares touch her shoes).

I figure that's about right for my luck, but the end of the story is something you wouldn't believe.

We thought we'd try the in-house cobbler for a repair job, first, and Mum dropped them in, in Tauranga, on the way up north for the weekend.  She got a phone call from the store owner this morning - she is going to replace the pair for free, and courier them over.

Never again shall I be anything other than happy for my Mother's penchant for beautiful (expensive) shoes and her subsequent (epic) store history.

I am completely blown away.  My luck tends towards the hilarious, rather than the happy.  Midnight laundry floods, roaming goats and chewed shoes.  What sublime happenstance.
In. Dog.  Box.

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