Just the thought of it fills me with a cold sense of dread, and as with all the previous summers, I left this unenviable task as long as possible, I even tried to casually suggest to Max that he take our darling daughters to carefully select their all important chosen shoe for the shiny new school year…he just snorted and changed the subject, thats a no then?!
There is a reason that despite Max’s multiple sarcastic comments, I still go to Clarks religiously every year. In fact there are several. It’s where my Mum used to take all of us, for ‘properly fitted shoes’ and I grew up with the importance of such things indoctrinated into me! ( I’d pushed aside the fact that they had screwed up fitting Bella’s sandals only weeks previously and I’d had to exchange them for a bigger size before leaving the store, as even in a frenzied state of shopping hell, I could spot her little toes hanging off the end of the shoe…how can anyone f’k up fitting sandals for goodness sake?! ) I like the fact that it involves one shop, one poor unsuspecting shop assistant to measure my little angel’s feet and then they are presented with the very last remnants of stock that are left in each of their sizes as I leave it so late, and if my little poppets dare protest, they are politely told that they will leave the shop with nothing! So each year, they are shoed with whatever fits and is left and they have to be vaguely happy with this because they really have no alternative and they do quite like new things. And yes, I say to Max over a gin, I know they’re expensive and no, they don’t seem to last any longer than the pair I once had to buy in an emergency from Asda that then actually outlasted all the others, but they’re the undisputed best of all shoes and unless you’re going to take them elsewhere darling, then Clarks it shall jolly well be!
But this year, for some reason that escapes me to this day, I decided to brave something new! Not completely totally new you understand, that would have been far to extreme, but in a bid to try and spend a little less than a small house (maybe a slight exaggeration!) I decided to try the outlet store. Oh how all my other mummy friends raved about it! “It’s wonderful” they cried, “So easy and so cheap”, “You should definitely take the girls, it’ll be a delightful and pleasurable shoe shopping experience!” so, one Friday morning, I sprang out of bed, announced to the little beauties we were off on a truly exciting and lovely girlie shopping trip and off we jollied! So initially it wasn’t a complete disaster, it was all very organised, they were measured outside the store and having been told their respective sizes, we went in the shop to get our ticket and wait to be fitted. My heart sank as soon as we got inside. There was literally not a space left on the floor, instead there was a sea of children and stressed out parents surrounded by, it seemed, all the shoes in the world and a noise level that would rival a rowdy pub on a friday night… taking a deep breath I gingerly stepped over the chaos and went to claim the timid looking sales assistant who stood looking terrified at the edge of it clutching the board with my number on it! Of course none of the shoes he produced were anything like what the girls wanted. Lucy and Bella had already announced they wanted a boot and not a shoe, despite me reminding them that it was still 24 degrees outside, then Esme, determined she wanted a certain shoe, finally found it but in a full size bigger than her own, the timid sales assistant did try to helpfully tell me he thought it was far too big but she was determined and I, already weakened and resolved to at least achieve something from this shoe hell, gave in. Phew! One down!
On exiting the shoe shop, we then of course had to go for the obligatory toilet stop and they were conveniently placed next to a mobile phone case stall where Esme suddenly expressed her desire to buy a case for her newly acquired phone with her birthday money, fine, I said, leaving her to choose while I took the other two to the loo. On our return, Bella started thumbing through the cases and then selected one and asked if she could have it for her non-existent phone. “Don’t be silly darling” I said breezily reminding her of said non-existent phone. As I glanced over I saw the all too familiar ‘look’ on her face. Oh FFS Bella, please NO! But tantrum she did, full on, tears, breath holding, loud shouting, mummy clinging tantrum. For 19 minutes. Deep breaths. After the initial trying to calmly rationalise with her chat, she still didn’t show any signs of letting up. The 20 something yr old mobile phone assistant just looked on aghast, I’m sure he was silently thanking god for contraception and vowing to never have children. Completely broken by now and totally bloody pissed off, I turned on my heel and walked off to the surrounding looks of either pity for me or sympathy for Bella that her mean and awful mummy wasn’t letting her buy a cover for her sodding non-phone. The girls trailing behind me slightly panicked I might just be leaving them there…
10mins later, in a cafe over a coffee and all the cakes the girls could screw out of me knowing I was now beaten completely, I ordered Lucy a pair of very reasonably priced boots, not from clarks, on-line. The following week I took Bella to proper Clarks and spent the same amount on her boots as I had on the other two’s collectively. She has since told me they’re too small…
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