Oldie but a goodie

OPINION: So I've been looking around for some summery sandals for when the weather decides to put its big girl pants on and starts to behave itself, writes Sarah McCarthy in this week's Uptown Girl.

I'm loath to keep wearing the little ballet flats I've been rocking for the past couple of months because, to be frank, I think they a) make my legs look even more stumpy and clumpy and b) actually are quite gross after two months of tromping.

So I've been trawling for sandals, and also for handbags because Old Faithful Witches' Bag is totally falling apart and I have to hide the mutilated handles in the crook of my elbow, the weight of which have given me a tingly heart-attack pain in my upper arm, and for purses because Old Green is now held together with a purple hair bobble because the zip broke and I threw all of my change around Starbucks the other morning before I realised it was bajanxed.

But I've been more interested in sandals, really, because at this stage of my financial life it still seems more sensible to drop $150 on a pair of shoes than a handbag, which is sad.

And I've seen lots of sandals but a Jedi-like voice in my head says, "These are not the sandals you are looking for" and it's true – they're all too strappy or too high or too backless or too covered in things or too jandally. But I was in H&Js the other day when it hit me like a shot of vodka. I'm actually looking for old-lady, orthopaedic sandals. Oh God.

I've been expecting this for some time – I've caught myself eyeing up the Hush Puppies and the Kumfs with a lecherous yet guilty eye.

When I look at shoes I don't sigh with longing thinking about how cute they'd look with my new skirt, I've been instead thinking how comfortable they look. Next thing you know I'll have adopted that fat old-lady sway, when you don't put your feet one in front of the other but kind of swing from side to side.

It's over. I might as well give up and buy a nice brown handbag with plenty of compartments for my angina pills and one of those long purses with a chequebook bit in it, also brown, and what the hell I might as well throw in a change purse. A brown change purse.

This is actually happening – first comfy shoes and then the crashing realisation that the tiny line on the side of my mouth is just dying to plummet towards my chin, meet up with a few stray hairs, invite a mole and have a party. ON MY FACE. How did this happen? Where was I? Is it because I don't know modern music and have been spending too much time on www.icanhascheezburger.com?

This is bad. Very bad. I fear for my Girl status. Perhaps we should call this column Uptown Old Bag, or Uptown Crone. Uptown Hag? Uptown Hush Puppy. Uptown Menopause (okay I may be exaggerating a teeny bit here).

PS Shameless plug: Come and see the Chekhov play thing I directed – I'm not in it but my old coffee table is – 4pm today at Repertory House on Esk St. There's another lot at 7.30pm, too. Go on, do an old lady a favour.

» Sarah McCarthy is a Southland Times staff member.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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