Tuesday, 11 November 2014

Sorry shoes




This time last week, I took the McBaby to get a new pair of shoes. We got his feet measured, he wouldn't sit still and then we left without buying them because the McBaby was messing about and nearly accidentally kicked a little boy. His mother growled at me as if he had kicked him, so we made a swift exit.

I then realised that I could order the shoes online. Then, all I'd have to do would be to run in, collect them and pay for them, meanwhile getting rich via a cashback site (this didn't work in the slightest. I was promised 6% but received 20p. I'm terrible at maths, but 6% of £34 is not 20p, is it?)

Anyway, I think Clark's deserves this money after our two performances.

We returned to the store, and I don't know about where you are, but it's pretty wet today, cue much jumping in puddles. The McBaby also partook of this activity (I'm joking; I didn't) so had wet trousers, wet socks and wet shoes.

The woman in the shop asked if we "wanted any help on kids", and then remarked that she recognised us from our last visit. I bet she did! I told her that we'd come to collect some shoes which she went to get while I wrung out the McBaby's wet clothes. I then realised that the bag containing his spare clothes was in the car. (If you saw me a bit later drying a very small pair of pants, two socks and a pair of trousers in the Dyson hand drier in John Lewis, this is why).

She returned. The McBaby threw a pair of pink girls' shoes at her. This is an insult in some countries, and not particularly pleasant in ours. I asked him to apologise.

"Sorry shoes", he said, the little sod.

She then had to fit his shoes in his bare feet as his socks were so wet. "This isn't normal procedure" she said. "They're fine," I said, embarrassment winning out over the parental responsibility of ensuring your child's shoes fit.

I went to pay for them and the McBaby made a den under a couple of chairs. I paid and thanked my lucky stars that he had only done a couple of embarrassing things when he yelled; "I DONE A WEE". Cue much frantic whispering between the lady and her surly colleague. Probably pointing out that it should be "I DID a wee" not "done".

I sheepishly asked for some kitchen roll and apologised while on my knees cleaning up what was, to be fair, a minimal amount of wee.

"It's fine" she said in that voice that tells you it really, really isn't.

So McBaby, please don't let your feet grow anymore, as we are not returning; I'm too embarrassed and we're probably barred anyway.






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