Rootin Tootin Bootin

I just had my favourite leather boots re-heeled and re-soled. I was slightly aghast when it came to paying, not realizing that the shoe repair business is right up there with dentistry when it comes to ‘how much?’ moments. Anyway, I slipped them back on, and patted myself on the back that I had done my bit for sustainability; after all it would have cost the same to buy a new pair. Smug? Yes, but not for long.

In a moment of – I’m sorry to admit – habitual sloppiness, caught up in the exhilaration of finally getting to bed, my beautiful re-heeled boots got left in the bathroom that night. So there they sat, next to the laundry basket, in all their newly polished glory. Rejuvenated – much like I imagine my face would look with just a dash of Botox. Bless me for giving you a second chance I thought, as I gazed at my boots, and bless you for your unswerving service to my feet. Feeling the love for these old friends I pottered off to bed. I was woken a few hours later by the sounds of splattering. Slightly soothing, like a waterfall at first, but then less flow and more splatter. I rushed into the bathroom, shaking the sleep from my head, wondering if this was a freak rainstorm, and there it was. My daughter. And she’d vomited all over my fresh, up-cycled boots.