Skirts and Giggles

Horror of horrors, the zipper on my trusty walking boots – the boots that walked me across Europe four years ago and have survived a mending to serve my poor feet for a good three years longer than the makers probably intended – broke! This afternoon, less than 24 hours before I get on a plane to the city where I need them the most: New York. What’s a girl to do?

If that girl is me, she takes it as a sign from the fashion gods that she should probably buy that stunning pair of dove grey-and-black calf-highs with the perfect round buttons curving stylishly up the side that has been earning longing glances in the window of Trove. (But first she almost drives herself to the brink of despair at the emporium of Hell itself, Winners, where the only thing she finds is a headache.)

Fortunately, constant fashion saviour Trove had stock in my size and indulgent staff who patiently held my hand while I debated the merits of brown vs. grey and fretted aloud whether these boots would get me all over Manhattan without instilling a desire to self-amputate (I was a very needy customer today; I even texted Brook about my colour quandary). Those Trove girls deserve a big Christmas bonus.