The Title

There's nothing to tell really. Basically it's about shoes (why wouldn't it be), and how life is a bit like a really great pair of black suede boots -and I should know, I just bought some! They are calf high and have a little heel and are slightly pointy and all ruched and baggy-ish. And I can tuck my jeans in and look all British even though I'm in South Africa (and it's 40 degrees but no matter). Anyway, back to the metaphor. So it's about life and shoes. Life, like those boots look fantastic and make the girl inside them look like a sex goddess, but inside, hidden from public eye, those boots are f***ing sore. And if the girl lifts the sole of her foot, the heel has been trodden into the ground. What I'm trying to say in my girlish ramblings, is that you have to look closer to see if the lining of the boot is being as cared for as the outside. If the girl is really smiling because she's happy or because she wants to cry and has held back so far. And yes, that did take me a while to say. Wow, my boyfriend Steven is soo right when he says I over-explain everything. But at least I've pointed out one clear thing tonight. There was something to tell after all...

Danger, Danger

It's bad enough that I don't even KNOW how it happened. I'm not clumsy or stupid -and I don't have big sausage fingers that are out of my control. But I was just rising from my chair after straightening my fringe with GHDs and my ring finger on my hand caught on the ceramic plates. And then there was PAIN!!! See I did FirstAid, so you would think that I'd be okay. But nooo. The whole 'putting your finger under the tap for 10 minutes' just wasn't good enough. The wet bandage (I improvised with a trainer sock) wrapped around the finger, was USELESS. Oh and my elder sister's brainwave of running the tap on the coldest temperature (and believe me, in Dundee that is COLD) and holding my finger under until it went numb? Yeah, no thanks. All it did was cause my blood circulation to stop so my finger was both burnt and a nasty shade of violet.

Okay so all that was pretty terrible, but the worst was the moment that my younger sister pranced past me with her own set of GHDs saying, 'Yeah apparantly the plates can reach 200 degrees in temperature'. Well thanks. Thanks a whole bunch sis. GREAT timing, as ever. And not to sound like Ross with the 97% reliable condoms in FRIENDS, but THEY SHOULD PUT THAT ON THE BOX! Surely its some kind of health hazard to have things that could boil water TWICE that close to your head. I mean, your brain is like RIGHT THERE. But whatever. The GHDs (from now on known as Gruesome Hair Demons) can go to hell.