“Oh no, you’re not!” Left Foot screams as I look at the pair of boots with disdain apprehension. “You are definitely not going to wear that,” agrees Right Foot.
But what can I do? I arrived in Barcelona totally unprepared for the cold. The weather guides all over cyberspace agreed that it wasn’t going to be THAT cold so I brought my lightest and most comfy Mary Janes… perfect for walking around. I visualized skipping and hopping along the wonderful Las Ramblas shouting “Hola!” to the mimes or chasing pigeons around Plaça de Catalunya, The Feet clad in my faithful Mary Janes. How could I have known that it was going to be 12 degrees going on 6 on the day that I arrive? And just yesterday, during a visit to Montserrat, The Toes attempted suicide by almost falling off. It was THAT cold. So lest it happens again, I have no choice but to beg people to lend me their boots.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot to choose from. T, one of the very sweet and helpful Filipinos who welcomed me to Barcelona (bless her heart), was the only one who had the same shoe size as I. And despite her good intentions, none of the 3 pairs of shoes she laid out before me quite, um, suited me to say the least.
“Do you still have other pairs hidden in the closet?” I ask T, a bit apprehensive. She sighs and says what I’ve been dreading to hear: Wala na eh.
So it’s either the uncomfortable cowboy boots, the ‘high fashion’ pointy boots that can kill anyone on contact or the roadkill-meets-mad-max boots. Sorry Feet, I really don’t have a choice.
As I put on a pair of socks and start slipping The Feet into the roadkill boots, I hear an indignant hiss from underneath. I try to ignore it but to no avail.
We will never forgive you for this, Pauline, The Feet cry in unison. Never!
A couple of days later, T would finally show mercy and agree to sell her gorgeous riding boots (mysteriously found at the back of her closet) to me. But today, these will have to do.
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