I am a bit of a shoe-fetishist. Unfortunately, I don’t have those delicate, lady-like feet that suit any kind of shoe. Nor do I possess calves that will just disappear into this season’s knee high winter boots with ease. Much like my little-girl desire to be a prima ballerina (before I saw the light and realised that writing was the only way!), my dreams do not match the reality of muscly legs, and ankles that tend to puff up a little as soon as I get out of bed in the morning.
So, here’s my take on footwear. And dreams. Enjoy!
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– Buccaneer –
In my dreams I stride across continents, buckling swash with a smile and a wink for the ladies (and gents) who I save from destruction, and fates that paper and pen cannot bear. I take a moment to polish my boots, inhaling the leather encasing my calves like a second skin. They are battle-scarred, and the laces that bind me from ankle to knee are soiled with years of pounding the lands. They may be scuffed and worn bare, but when I ease them over my stockinged feet, one by one, slowly, achingly, sensuously, I adorn myself with bravery, confidence, and a suit of armour that no metal may match. They are my badge of honour. They are me.