Bought some trainers, usually I have walking boots partially funded by you the tax payers and partially by the government. Without my boots I would not be able to continue my job as efficiently as I have been known to. I would not be able to walk for miles on end providing you, the general public, with up-to date mapping to aid with your day to day navigation around the streets and houses, shops and massage parlours which you see as being part of your daily routine. If you did not turn up for your weekly spray tan at “Tan-tastic” or you did not buy Richard and Judy’s book of the month( (a) assuming you can read and (b) assuming Judy is still with us), or you failed to turn up to your dentist’s because you forgot where they were based, or the pensioner you were meant to be looking after on your 100 hours community service, received due to a neighbourhood spat, was left at a view point; you have no idea which view he or she was looking from until you read the local paper weeks later telling of a suicide identified by his/ her teeth of a 95 year old with care home connections.
This is why you need maps; to find your way around and to attach a location, mentally, to everything you do. In the future, if you are younger than me and like me when I was your age, then this may well save your life by guiding you to a safe cove in the choppy waters of ignorance, which so many seem to survive in today.
The issue I have, is with my trainers, I’ve seen many friends around my age, give or take, wearing trainers, looking very comfortable and coping admirably or more so. I went with my son to buy them, choosing the third or forth pair I saw, due to there being far too many for any rational man to spend time weighing up the pros and cons of neon over primary colour laces. It’s a mine field folks, this is a precautionary tale.
Now I’ve some Adidas, they are charcoal with red stripes and red laces (I can and will eventually change the laces; its on the list along with meeting Beatrice Dalle and buying a speedboat). When I wore them in the shop to try for size, I strolled up and down, I trotted up and down, I ran up and down past the hundreds of boxes of shoes and racks of flip flops and crocs ready for holidays. And every time I arrived back at where my increasingly embarrassed son was sitting, I glanced down at the acutely angled mirror next to the soft stools all shoe testers sit upon. Boy my feet in those trainers looked the Nuts, they felt brilliant too; soft, supportive, washable as well which is bonus when you get to my age.
I took them, it was a no brainer, my son, too, was getting withdrawals from Fortnite, so I knew it best to leave the joint, quit the trainer speakeasy. I still like the look of my trainers but they squeak and so sneaking up on people (why do they call them sneakers in USA?), is nigh on impossible. These are my holiday trainers which I intend to stroll around the flesh pots of Bulgaria with the family, and they make it impracticable for me to arrive anywhere without first announcing myself with the tell tale nasal repetitive rasping squeak from both shoes now. I now am not so sure I selected the correct trainers, I feel self conscious; I’m sure 95% of people probably wouldn’t really care or indeed notice but its the 5%, they’re the ones I’m concerned for.
Tonight I asked my wife if I should write a letter of complaint to Adidas, she agreed immediately! I may just doing that.