Foot Faults

I last posted on Thursday when I was struggling to come to terms with my embarrassing expenses error.

If I had known what was about to happen, I wouldn't have bothered wasting my shame on that little faux pas.

No, I would have saved it for the school gate.

You see I was too busy blogging (and 'stuff') to watch the time and I suddenly realised I had approximately 30 seconds to leap from my mum's sofa, get in the car and race to my son's school.

No worries.

Until I looked down and realised that one of my boots had mysteriously vanished.

There could only be one culprit.

The dog (to be fair I think mangy damp sheepskin boots would be pretty appealing if I was an old spaniel. They are only very slightly removed from roadkill).

Yes the dog had taken one of my boots and hidden it.

Oh what deep rapturous joy.

I conducted a preliminary search but to no avail. Realising that in reality my boot could be buried in the garden (or in fact partially digested in the dog's stomach) I allowed myself to absorb the fact that I HAD to leave the house NOW and I only had one boot. And what with this being my mother's house and me not actually living here, there was was no alternative footwear to slip into.

I was left with 2 choices:

1. Attend the school wearing one boot and a bare foot. Even in my wildest moments this has not appeared a good option so that was a resounding no.

2. Attend the school wearing footwear belong to either my mother or my father.

Small problem.

My feet are a size 8.

My father's are a larger than a size 12 (I'm not sure of the exact size but his wellies are like waders).

My mother is a size 4.

This narrowed my options slightly to:

1. Wearing huge wellies and being unable to actually drive or walk safely.

or.

2. Wearing very tiny wellies which were relatively safe but utter agony.

Utter agony it would have to be then. Like a rural version of Chinese Foot Binding.

The clock was ticking and I had an image of my son standing alone in a windswept playground sobbing 'where's my mummmeeeeeeeee?' so I hastily started cramming my less than dainty feet into my mother's very dainty wellies.

I got them in! Joy!

The joy was short lived.

I noticed a large amount of dog sh1t attached to the sole of the left boot.......

There was no way I was introducing that much dog poo to my car interior (a car interior which I hasten to add hasn't been cleaned since the 'red wine' incident and is inches deep in flaky pastry and mud - however I draw the line at the faeces of dogs) and there was no time to even begin cleaning it all out.

So that left me with one clean welly (4 sizes to small) and one sheepskin boot (but for the other foot).

Well what would you have done!?

Yes that's right.

I boldly stood in the playground wearing two right-footed boots in vastly different styles and colours.

Ohhh how they laughed (before sniffing my breath and pulling their children closer).

As my son said when he saw me 'oh mummy, what ARE you doing now? Are you crazy or something?'.

Well I wasn't, but at this rate I damn well might be.

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