This will tell you a lot about how I live: the second most significant relationship in my life is with my DHL man. I know his name, I know his wife's name and I've met his son. I'm also very pally with my DPD man and my UPS man, while my regular postman and I consider ourselves to be old friends.
It's the online shopping, see. I am DEVOTED to it. Most nights I go to bed at a very respectable 9.30pm, murmuring vague words like, "unwinding", "improving book" and "no blue light". But before I open up said "improving book" I decide to take the teeniest, quickest, little glimpse online at the new shoes. Barely a glance-ette. Three hours later when Himself comes to bed, I am in a trance-like state, jabbing my finger at the screen as I pursue a pair of (let's say) Balenciaga "Knife" Slides across the globe.
Okay, there’s no “let’s say” about it: it happened. I saw a pair of satin, kitten-heeled slides from Balenciaga and it was like being taken hostage. All personal agency abandoned me. I could barely breathe as I clicked and clicked, desperate to discover if they came in my size.
Jumping from luxury site to luxury site, I eventually found them. A few days later, courtesy of my second husband (the DHL man) they arrived. Immediately I closeted myself in my bedroom, telling Himself, “Privacy, please. I’m spending some time with my new shoes.”
I faced facts about my fantasy shoes: satin was impractical
Within, an entire time-lapse relationship occurred. First, many happy minutes were spent smiling sappily at the shoes nestling in their tissue paper crib. Then I paraded around on the carpet, admiring them with countless different outfits.
Eventually, like an illness running its course, I faced facts about my fantasy shoes: the satin was impractical, the narrow heels would get caught between paving stones and the extreme pointiness of the toes meant that all stairs must be navigated sideways. Most of all, the extortionate cost (almost 600 yoyos) was unlivable with.
So I consulted the consolatory trinity: TopShop/Asos/H&M. Within moments an admirable substitute popped up on Topshop: a pair of Juliette V-cut mules in purple satin (pictured.) Close enough considering they were only a twelfth of the price of the Balenciagas.
It was time to make the call requesting a return: the DHL man bringeth – and the DHL man taketh away. But for a few short happy hours, those foncy shoes were MINE.
