Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Silver heels

I remember longing for patent leather shoes as a child. I might have been 7 or 8, maybe older. Their shininess made me drool, I wanted them so badly. I wasn't allowed them as they were 'common' - my Mum's word for what we would probably say as chavvy. I didn't see this at all and had a similar need over kitten heels in the 80's, for which I was allowed, but not for school. Oh the power of parents. Oh the joy of being an adult and having what you want - except of course now I don't want red stilettos, I'd rather have a comfy pair that aren't going to rub on the bunions. Nice.

P received these beauties for her birthday. So, so wrong, but so very right.

I know, I know, high heels on a 4 year old - I agree that little girls grow up fast, I love the Pink Stinks campaign, I've even got the T-shirt thank you very much. I'm all for little P to become a farmer, train driver or pilot and give her opportunities that allow her to be who she wants to be. She might just have to wear silver heels doing it. As she went to bed last night, in a sleepy end-of-term slur, she said:

"Where are my silver high heels, Mummy?"

"Under the bed, darling" I replied, tucking her in and kissing her soft cheek.

"Can you move them so I can see them, please?" she asked, so very nearly asleep.

So I did. Knowing exactly how it feels when you love something so much.

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