Sharing shoes with the teens

 

The good thing about having three teenage/pre-teen daughters is I can nick some of their clothes and they have more or less the same foot size as me. The bad thing is that they nick all of my clothes, shoes and make-up [not that I have much]. Sometimes, however, the shoe thing comes in handy. We went to a wedding in Wales this weekend. It was a bit of a mad rush – as everything seems to be these days. We had to get up early, everyone complained and the cat escaped out the front where all the cars are at the last moment meaning we had to lie on the ground with cat treats for 20 minutes coaxing her out. Daughter one was still asleep as she was not coming along due to revision.

We arrived at the B & B with around 20 minutes to spare before the wedding started, changed and I raided daughter three’s make-up which includes no rouge so I had to resort to lip gloss. We ordered a taxi. Unfortunately in our haste we forgot how many children we have so when the cab arrived, it was for four people max. My partner and daughter two opted to walk into town. Only son, daughter three and I arrived just in time for the vows.

After the ceremony and party, people were wilting. Only son had spent much of the day running up and down the stairs of the hotel where the wedding was held and sliding down on his bottom. Unfortunately, all the females were dressed up in posh frocks and high heels, something to which they are not accustomed. Daughter two had nicked some shoes off her big sister. Daughter three had some hand me downs and I was in my only pair of shoes with heels. It was a half hour walk back to the B & B. “My feet are killing me, mum,” said daughter three limping. Daughter three and daughter two decided to swap shoes. Daughter three’s feet are slightly smaller than daughter two’s. The shoes were slightly less painful, though, so she decided to treat them as if they were flip flops. We walked about 15 feet and I had a brainwave. I swapped with daughter three, daughter two wore daughter one’s shoes and I wore daughter three’s. Only son decided he was not going to make it to the B & B. “I’m really cold and my whole body is tired,” he said. I was visibly limping by this stage so he took pity on me. “I’ll hold your hand, mum,” he said.

About 20 minutes later we arrived at the B & B and everyone took off their shoes. “I never want to see those shoes again,” said daughter three. We had two rooms. One with a double bed and another with a double bed and a single. Daughters two and three volunteered for the first, but 10 minutes later daughter three came in. “Daughter two says I have to sleep on the floor,” she announced. It turned out that she had been a bit freaked out on the way home by a drunken man who told her she was “fit”. She wanted to sleep with us. She made us all a cup of tea to relax. We rang daughter one who was enjoying time alone with the cat. I related the shoe story, seeking sympathy. “Hang on a minute,” she said. “Daughter two was wearing my shoes? Can I speak to her?” This is the person who says she wants to live in a commune and share all her worldly goods. As long as the commune does not include daughter two.

*Mum on the run is Mandy Garner, editor of Workingmums.co.uk. Picture credit: Wikimedia commons and www.queen-of-heels.de.





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