Bertie got me some sandals. Now I hate sandals. The last time I wore sandals was about 1979, when I moved from infant school to the junior school, and all the stigma that goes with that is still the case. Now admittedly, I can see the function of sandals. As a bonefide member of the 'bovver boot' brigade, my feet should get really warm. But they don't any more then in the height of the winter, being the size they are means they act like very efficient radiators. Now that heat needs to escape, and I find that normally it does perfectly well, so I've never actually bothered with sandals.
Now, I'm sure you'll agree, the picture above looks like a very nice pair of sandals. I certainly do, but a nagging little voice says "Don't start liking them Rik, it's a slippery slope down from there." I have to agree.
White socks? Where does it end?
Argh!
So, I won't take the first step. The problem was I told this to Bertie. I didn't want to wear them, and that was that. Bertie just couldn't understand why though, and fair play, she did her best to persuade me.
"Your feet will be so hot, try them on."
"No, I don't like them"
"Yes, but you haven't even tried them on."
"No, because I don't want to."
"But how can you not like them until you've tried them on."
*tries sandals on*
"No, I don't like them still."
"But think how good it would be if you wore them"
"Not good at all."
"You don't have to wear them with socks."
"I don't have to wear them at all."
"So that's a no then?"
"Yes."
"Yes you will wear them?"
"No. Yes I won't wear them."
Call me a callous ungrateful bastard (sorry Dad *cough*), but I won't wear them. She got the message and we were both laughing about it afterwards.
I mean, what's next? A hat? A highly slung camera bag? Knee length shorts?
