Shoe scare

My father just phoned, telling me that I have over 200 pairs of shoes. And that is not counting the left and the right individually, he assures me. I think it is a scurrilous lie. He just wants me to stop buying more. Which, frankly, would be an excellent idea, one that I need to think about seriously. You see, as I have said before, I kinda sorta maybe perhaps like shoes!

This crisis has arisen because of a small accident in our house. There is a history that needs to be explained: The back of my shoe cupboard is set against the wall on the other side of which is the kitchen sink. A few days ago, after a bit of a storm at the dead of night, with lots of thunder, lightning and wind, I came face to face with a tiny cockroach that scuttled behind the aforementioned cupboard after a mutually horrified look that passed between us. With a shudder, followed by a faint squeak, I hopped back into bed, resolutely avoiding thinking about the bug, which had no business whatsoever invading my sanctum. The next morning, still blearily asleep, I asked my father to liberally spray that area with insecticide, keeping small cat well away from my room. In the process, he discovered a mass of damp and mould that had seeped into the cupboard and ruined the wall, the back of the wooden box and a couple of my slippers in the process. Clean it, he suggested, of the small cupboard. I had been planning to, but between housekeeping and work, had never managed to find the time. Or maybe I didn’t really want to.

That soul-searching debate apart, Father dear did the needful this afternoon. With a battalion of plastic bags, gloves (I hope) and some towels, he emptied the cupboard, cleaned it and each pair of shoes and packed everything neatly away again. Much to his satisfaction – since he can now happily pick a bone or three with me about it – he found many many many pairs of shoes, sandals and slippers that he (and perhaps I, if I was being absolutely honest) didn’t know I had. Some in a good state, some that cry for retirement, some that have little use in a climate like Mumbai’s average: hot, muggy and unbearable where the relationship between closed shoes and feet is concerned.

Whatever that may be all about, I hotly deny the statement that I have too many pairs of shoes for my own good. I disagree, for the record, of the count as well, and can assure not just Father dear but the general public that may read this that no one can have enough footwear. There will always be an occasion or an outfit that does not have anything to match it. Trust me. Being the proud owner of an unsubstantiated number of pairs of shoes, I know!