Some time ago (possibly in the 1980’s) I set what I thought was a reasonable ceiling on footwear. In them days (I know, I know), you could get a decent pair of DM’s for £30, so I thought it was a pretty valid benchmark. And, with the exception of running shoes, which I can justify on the basis that cheap ones will limit my ambition of still running marathons well into my 70’s, I still pretty much have £30 as my top limit for shoes. Which, as you might imagine, means a fairly limited approach to shoe-buying that isn’t always successful.
I tell you all this as a context for a recent conversation with Mrs Emu, a woman who I hold in considerable regard, and with whom I share almost every moral code. There are exceptions, however, and both the length of time allowed shopping for shoes and the price ceiling are good examples.
Here’s my favourite phone call of the week:
Mr E: ‘Hi, what’s up’
Mrs E: ‘Well, just thought I’d phone to see how you were’
Mr E ‘All good…you don’t normally phone up just for that’
Mrs E ‘No, well just thought I’d let you know that I had half an hour spare so I cycled into the city, and I found the most amazing pair of brown boots. You know I’ve been after some for ages, and these are just fantastic’
Mr E ‘Great, did they cost much?’
Mrs E ‘Well, far less than those road bikes you’ve been looking at online’
(The conversation went back and forth a bit, even involving a bit of ‘The Price Is Right’ ‘higher/lower’ action, until the full price was revealed.)
Mr E ‘That’s quite a lot of money for a pair of boots’
Mrs E ‘I know, and I’ll work a couple of extra shifts to pay for them. Besides, these boots will make me happy in a way that you’ll never be able to’
My advice if you’re looking for a wife or husband…find someone who makes you laugh while they put you in your place. Although, if you’re reading this dear, ideally also someone who doesn’t end her sentences with a preposition.
The Emu 