An ode to the hot pink mama shoes...

Dear Hot Pink Mama Shoes,

You know I love you. I loved you the moment I saw you, I just knew you had to be mine.

So why do you keep insisting on embarrassing me whenever I wear you?

Take the other day for example, minding my own business, tottering around on you out shopping together, when you gave way and sent me tumbling (not for the first time)...

And then the other evening when I took you for a night out with the girls, most shoes would have been grateful for an outing like that, not you, no, not you, as soon as we entered the slightly rough pub in Bury St Edmunds Town Centre (yeah, I hang out in all the classiest places me) you tipped me over, I landed on my knees at the bar. People were laughing Shoes... did you not see? All I could do was tell them "I always come in here like that". I defended you, I blamed the hidden step. I could tell you blamed the couple of shandies I'd had in the previous pub.

Whilst you know I don't like to have favourites, put it this way, if the house was burning down, I would potentially grab you (oh, and one of the kids if I had room in my arms), so I think the least you could do is show me a little love back.

You are making me consider the perils that lay before me if I even dare to venture out with you. And that's not good for either of us.

So, give me a break shoes, let's get back to the old love we once shared and I will cherish you forever more.

Yours 'hoping to stay upright a bit more',