New Blue Shoes.

I must state my case outright. If I were single and had a facebook account, my status would read, "no men wearing crocs need apply." 
(Men with orange, khaki or perish the thought, personally decorated crocs might as well leap into the moat to be devoured by the real reptile.) They have become an international nightmare, with cutesy shoes in all manner of styles and sizes ranging from infant to giant, with clip on art to add insult to injury. My brother, a style guru and label snob of note, recently pointedly ignored a man he met shopping on a Saturday afternoon, when they had enjoyed good conversation at a dinner party the night before, the minute he noticed his croc clad feet. We both admit, purely out of loyalty, that Mr Suzy Q is the ONLY man we'd ever talk to in crocs, on the grounds that he wears them because of a bad back ("that's why surgeons wear 'em") and he also has many other redeeming features.

I quailed just before Christmas when I spied a discarded croc carrier bag in the bin, with no obvious evidence in sight. (Nothing escapes Suzy Q's beady eye when out doing the daily dirt, you see!) A bit of intensive, investigative snooping under the tree revealed a suspiciously box shaped package labelled for me, with an ominous "Welcome to the Club" clue. Now, les belle teens won't even go to the corner shop with Mr Suzy Q if he wears his infamous crocs, so they were unlikely to be members of this new club, and knowing my more malleable personality, I reckoned the beastly reptilian shoes were destined for me. Perhaps he really didn't want us to make it to our forthcoming 20th wedding anniversary...?


Come Christmas morning, with all eyes on me, I opened said package with no small amount of trepidation and anxiety, trying to read meaning into the bemused faces around me. And lo, a pair of little blue lace up tackies, just the style I adore, unfurled themselves before me, and they really looked quite cute. Thinking that I was the butt of some wicked joke I hadn't quite fathomed out yet, I tried them on, just to keep them all sweet and smiling (for the knives were yet to come out as we planned to prepare the turkey together, and the kitchen is never large enough for both of us). Hmmm, feather light, unbelievably comfortable, and yes, cute. Their trick had worked on me. Just as I was getting to love them, I noticed the wicked crocodile grin on the little logo on the side. Ah well, what the hell, never look a gift croc in the jaws, I love them and now wear them to death. Merci beaucoup Monsieur Suzy Q!

One small problem, what about my brother? Well, I guess he's short sighted anyway, but will he disown me when he notices my defection...?


Your croc clad,


Suzy Q