Monday, October 29, 2001

I have walked my Mexx shoes to shreds.

They were never my favourite shoes, as they were always just too...plain (and significantly less in use ever since the arrival of my beloved campers), but they were good, trusty companions for the past 16 months.

They walked through Melbourne, Sydney, Singapore Airport, Berlin, Basel, Unitown and Hometown and tons of other places with me. They were taken off and left alone for a little while on Manly Beach, they took me through museums and exhibitions and shops and supermarkets and to shrink appointments. They walked with me through Uni, spend days at work at the law firm on Collins St, I wore them to nights out on the town, to my volunteer job at Profa, to a Gomez & Alex Lloyd concert. They almost went on TV, but even back then the show's stylist deemed them too boring and plain, and I got to wear the stylist's very own super-hot high JOOP! boots, which were so awesome (and worth maybe 6 times what the Mexx shoes were worth), that I almost walked out with them.

But still. They were nice shoes, my plain black stretchy squarey Mexx ones. And now they are as good as dead, make a squeaky sound when you walk in them because their rubber soles, which used to have little squares on them, are walked through and have broken up, all of a sudden.

I'll have to throw them away sooner or later.

But at least I now have a damn good reason to go out and spend some money on some new shoes. And that's never bad.