the kinky shoester

one pair of boots has to take a lot from me. they have to walk everyday, and never do they get a break. because they are the only thing i will wear until they fall apart and it's time to buy a new pair. until then i will carry them back to the cobbler and make him fix them to the moment they really want to walk no more.

before i left today to chase down a certain marsupilami, i told my cheri how the heels need fixing since i walk a bit on the outside of my feet. all my shoes have a not-so-slight tilt which makes walking a bit uncomfortable. but still i manage. across cobblestones and tram tracks, through mud and puddles. occasionally i sit down. at a cafe to have a chocolat chaud, to give my boots a rest. this time i get up and suddenly i hear one heel making a hollow noise. we trace our steps back to the said cafe, and there it is, the heel, looking rather sad, half chewed off by a thousand steps on pavement. i pick it up and we split paths, cheri to the record store, moi to the cobbler where i have been before, who puts up with my broken french. it's not so difficult when you have something to point to like a broken heel.

the happy shoester tells me to take off my boots and starts the loud machine in the back of the tiny shop to begin his work. of course, as i sit there bootless a million customers walk in to interrupt the grinding, throwing me odd glances while picking up their belongings or bringing in more things to fix for the man. i do pick up a lot of the conversations and am thinking of a new series for french lessons, hanging around in stores without your boots on. but never mind, my feet are beginning to get cold, when the shoeman calls me to the back of the store. actually there are two backs, the middle room and the inner sanctum. the first invite i get is to the middle room where i have to slip on my boots and step onto the material that will be nailed to my heels. yes, it seems the perfect height, thank you, maybe even adding a milimeter, and you know, how every milimeter counts! so off i go back to the front to sit back in my fold up chair.

then i get the second call. this time i have made it to the inner sanctum where i sit down on another chair and there's even a blue plastic ottoman placed before me. please place your now booted feet onto this here stool, the shoester requests with a smile beaming up at me. yes, he is kneeling in front of me, of course, he is a shoester after all and deals in shoes, not in hats. and shoes most often touch the floor. he has found a problem with the heel, it moves precariously. therefore he must wiggle it while i wear it. he makes me take my heel into my hands and wiggle it. uhuh. move my legs this way and that. i do spread my legs for him, all in the cause for my broken heel of course, or so i think. and as i most often do these days, i am wearing my black cordoroy skirt and as any modest lady would do, i push down the folds in front of me, so that i do not sit there barelegged, spreading my legs. but he says, no it's okay, and pulls back on the fabric of my skirt. pardon me? i say, no, no, mr. shoester. but he says, yes, yes, little lady, it looks very jolie! i say, oh really, well thank you, as i push down on my skirt some more.

he is a mere boy, this one, but he knows his craft and loves the ladies so it appears. he is so very charming with his compliments. so very polite in his honest curiosity of what lies hidden underneath my skirt. and why is there no one entering the store at this moment? time has given us this little moment where life outside seems to pause and the tinkering bell on the door takes a break, and there is just this little shoester boy, with his crafty hands on the seams of my skirt, kneeling before me, wishing for a small glimpse at my secrets. there are his tools lying idle and the smell of polish wifting through the air. and while my hands remain firmly on the pleats of my garment, my eyes meet his in a friendly way, and my lips bend into a smile.


the spell is broken. i take off my boots, get back up, , and return to the outer sanctum. this shoester does his work well. two more minutes and the heels are better than before. i pay my ten euros, thanking him kindly for a work well done and so promptly, and am back on the pavement. i do have another pair of boots that needs an expert fixing. i will bring them to my happy shoester, but then i'll be moving so my cheri will pick them up. somehow i doubt he will be invited back to the inner sanctum, though one just never knows...