I'm about to buy a pair of shoes I never intend to wear. I know as they catch my eye that their 7cm heels do not fit my 'mummy' lifestyle. As the saleslady brings me my size, I'm certain I don't own any clothing to match. But when I put them on, I'm transformed, and convinced that I'm not leaving the store without them.
Gliding across the carpet, I feel like Julia Roberts on Oscars night. I feel glamorous. I stand taller and move like a runway model (almost). In these shoes, I'm still a mum, but I'm a mum with an important place to be, looking fabulous.
As my son launches his sippy cup against the wall of the shoe department, I'm expelled from my reverie. The saleslady is hovering with a disapproving smile and her eyes are darting around looking for a more likely customer. But I'm not giving in. When your days are filled with tracksuits, playgrounds and plates full of chicken nuggets, a pair of shoes like this becomes a portal to another era, when for a few minutes I can recall a time I had several pairs of these shoes in my closet. A time before kids came along to reinforce that fashion is like playing dress-up and anything but practical.
Suddenly, I'm thinking of my oldest son. When you ask him what he wants to be when he grows up he usually chooses a comic-book hero. He loves to put on the costume and transform himself. The best fun comes from dressing the part and acting out the role. The costume provides the fuel for his imagination to run wild and for his dreams to seem real.
The saleslady tips her head inquisitively asking what I'd like to do with the shoes. I'll take them, I say with a smile.
Later, at home, my youngest is napping, having finally succumbed to the rigours of being strapped in a stroller for 45 minutes in a shoe department. I remove the glossy shoebox from the shiny shopping bag and assign it a place in my closet. I get ready to leave it there, forever.
I need to pick up my older son at school soon. I wonder what character he'll want to imitate when he gets home today.
Impulsively, I take out the new shoes and put my trainers inside the box. I slip on the high heels with my tracksuit and rush to pick him up. Life is short. And these shoes make me feel really good.
A mother can still dream, can't she?
