Red Shoe Diary

Dear Diary: This morning, Jools threatened to divorce me if I didn't buy new shoes. She said the ones I was wearing (the only pair I own) were an eyesore, the flapping soles life-threatening, the uppers scruffy and unpolishable. "Look in the mirror," she commanded. "You have the sartorial elegance of a squashed hedgehog. New shoes or else!"

That's why I went to the mall, searching for something to bring zing to my feet and joy to her heart. Normally, I choose comfort over fashion, bland rather than eye-catching. But not today. Time for a fresh start. Bugger comfort, I wanted shoes that would scream STYLE. Shoes Jools would be proud to walk beside.

One glance at the gleaming red alligator skin and rapier-pointed toes did the trick, especially when the clerk confided that pimp-chic was the latest fashion. "Your wife'll love them", he declared as he wrapped them in a big red box and escorted me to the door.

So, tell me, Diary. Why does my head ache? Why am I sitting here in the rain? Why does Jools hate me? Did I do something wrong?