Playing (desperately unwanted) Footsie

Of course. Even if you're repelled or amused in a disgusted sort of way, if you click on those infernal Facebook adverts, they will continue to offer you even more.

On an intellectual level, this is understood, but the 'you've got to be KIDDING me - they think that THIS is what I'm looking for' curiosity for further thrills and giggles wins out every time.

And so, we have more butt ugly shoes that the Facebook algorithm gift pixies think I'd gladly throw my money at.  Why should I suffer alone, why not share them with you?

Again, I'm not five years old. Nor a virgin.  However, they do give me cravings for a hot pasty slathered in tomato sauce....

If your partner has been asked by the midwife to tear his anguished eyes away from your straining face to take a look at the baby's head while it's crowning, he's likely to faint.  Instead, why not ask the nurse to wear these shoes so that he can be spared the more graphic images of a shredded vagina and imagine it more like a badly designed leather rose instead?

These have 'wild' in their title, and many minutes have already been wasted pondering just why that word was considered a good descriptor for the loudest pair of shoes a librarian could only dream of wearing after hitting the Pimms and lemonade.

High heeled thongs.  Yes, we call them thongs.  Flip Flops.  If the painful toe grabbing lessons learned by 1990s mule (shoe, not donkey and horse offspring) wearing fashion victims weren't observed, how in the hell is someone supposed to keep these on their feet whilst, call me crazy for assuming this, walking anywhere?

Oh bugger it.  These toe flats are not just 'distressed,' they've melted.  I'd look like I'd fallen asleep too close to the fire if I ventured around town in these hand-stitched atrocities.

Noooooooooooooo............ they've only gone and SKINNED Elmo, buffed his fur to an unnaturally mirror-like shine and put his EYEBALLS back on so he'll be forever tortured in being witness to wherever his IQ challenged wearer decides to take him. 

I've mentioned before that I've got large feet.  Unless a flash flood has dramatically occurred and a couple of canoes are needed to save all elderly and infirm inhabitants of the village, I think I'll leave the two of the words they've used: 'fashion low' to speak for themselves.

Many's the time I've wanted a beach tent to protect the top of my feet - but not the toes, mind - when taking out the recycling.

Now look.  These would indeed look great on someone with sexy legs happy to strut their stuff in a heaving Mykonos nightclub.  But seeing as they've been recommended for me, a person whose legs resemble fluoro tubes filled with cottage cheese.... not so much.  A walk to the recycling bins would be memorable, however.

There's a lot to analyse here.  Firstly the model is pigeon-toed.  Secondly the sneakers have a wedge heel on top of the third and most obviously challenging issue, that of the unwieldy stacked platforms.  This footwear style seems a particularly cruel choice to offer a young girl who, as they're described as 'sports' shoes will put them on only to wind up knock-kneed in a ditch before even reaching the first hurdle.

Okay yes, there's humour here.  Despite this, a kitchen curtain ruffle and a pearl-studded pineapple is not going to give you a comfortable stroll through the dusty paths of ancient Delphi.  You will end up with toes more suited to curling around a parrot's perch and the rough end of the pineapple is likely to reward you with a blister on the top of the second toe.

Let's get out the chamois that's been sitting in the car door unused for years; some roses from an old chocolate box and steal the laces from dad's work shoes.  And the result: sheltered workshop meets pissed-as-a-newt during lockdown when Netflix is unavailable.

I dare this woman to run anywhere with just a square button holding her feet to the sole of her sandal.  Why not just paint them on, they'll be just about as useful.

And thus I conclude, ready to step outside with Felix in my hiking boots.  They're fragrant with mud and definitely smell as though a bit of unwanted horse manure has taken up residence inside the wide tread indents and the inside lining is now so loose it comes out when my feet do.  Even so, none of the above will be under consideration when I'm back online looking for my replacement pair.

Balance that Ronald McDonald would envy

I have big feet.  For a woman, having big feet can rate right up there with a zit invading your schnozz on job interview day except that size tens don't dry up and disappear in a couple of days.

My feet grew to their full size when I was only fourteen, so I hadn't yet grown into my height or final bra size, yet had hooves I could waterski with.

"Never mind," said Dad, "You'll always have good balance."

A recent bout of vertigo has made a lie of that promise.

Despite this burden, somehow I trudged on (easy with clown-sized clodhoppers) and am only occasionally reminded of my oversized appendages when rummaging through boxes of shoes on sale.  My size is EU41 /Australian 10 /UK 8.5 or US 10.5 and these are never the ones found at half price.  Lockdown restrictions and the anonymity of online shopping has been a relief for me.

These click and pay services naturally result in Facebook grabbing that data (amongst many other varied topics) and offering me what they consider are helpful suggestions on what shoes to buy next.

I'll readily admit that twelve months of nearly constant lockdown here in France has most decidedly NOT resulted in my becoming a local, or effortlessly stylish. I dress in dog walking clothes immediately after waking and in the course of the day take Felix on about four walks totalling 12 kilometres. It seems pointless to shower and change until his last walk at 6pm.  It is only then that I shower and change into my pajamas.  Why get dressed when we have a 6pm curfew?  Felix's bedtime 'walk' is a mere toddle around the block so that he can empty his bladder before bedtime.  A baggy parka or hoodie disguises my bralessness and as for the PJ pants well, who cares? It's 11pm and dark.

So back to the shoe suggestions.  These are the ones that appear on my timeline daily:

Please understand that running shoes and birkenstocks are the only shoes I've purchased online these past twelve months so yes, comfort reigns supreme.  However I still do not want to be seen wandering the walking trails with what appears to be the over-inflated love child of Papa Smurf and a wandering triceratops.  I dare anyone to believe the advertisement's statement that these abominations are anything remotely 'fashionable.  Reply to Facebook's suggestion:  'Delete.'

Bad photoshopping of the colour aside, these pointy looking 'comfort' slippers look torturously uncomfortable.  As someone who reluctantly and only very briefly embraced the mules phase in the 1990s, the exhaustion and cramp from your toes clawing furiously to keep the infernal things from flying off into the road in front of you is not worth it.  'Don't show me this advert again.'

These would look fabulous on a youthful and zany host of a children's after school show.  On a fifty two year old in a twelve year old grey polar fleece, puckered black yoga pants and hair not tended to since summer...?  Men with kind smiles and butterfly nets would be tiptoeing behind me.  'Non!'

Oh ferphucksakes, I'm not FOUR. 'Report Ad.'

Even Olive Oyl and dodgy computer art can't save these witchy poo pumps.  Yuck!  'This advert is annoying to me.'

These might be rather natty if it was 1922; I was a man and about to jump aboard a moving locomotive.  Or walking through a forest with all of my belongings tied up into a kerchief hanging from the end of a stick?  Drinking an ice cold coca cola and hearing jazz for the first time?  'Sorry, it's a 'no' from me.'

I guess you never know when Napoleon might need a few of us expats to prepare for a winter defence of the CERN hadron collider.  'Hide ad.'  Please.

The large size of my female feet has already been discussed.  These pointy-toed monstrosities would enter the room a good ten minutes before my nose would.  No, facebook, I don't 'already own this' but please 'Hide Ad.'

The imagination runs wild picturing the frazzled female who willingly selects these shoes.  She's short, solidly built and has had E bloody NOUGH of you.  Those flat ends are from rage kicking anti-vaxxers, people who walk on just-mopped floors and fellas who let their noses hang over their face masks on public transport.  We can all identify with her anger and the shoes are a big bright red hint as to the annoyance levels reached by the wearer.  'Why am I seeing this ad?'

If you like or have purchased any of the above-mentioned shoes, then I wish you well.  Perhaps Facebook figured out your tastes and requirements better than it has mine. All I can use in my defence is that they have also suggested novelty butt plugs, stomach reduction surgery and a device that removes ear wax the size of a cashew nut. Judge that how you will, it's time for me to put on my walking boots and take Felix out for his afternoon constitutional.....