Seventies, surf/skate, snapshots, funny stuff
You know what I find very hard to understand? People who go out on their bicycle wearing not shoes, but their indoor slippers.
Slouching out to the letterbox on slippers, okay. Venturing as far as the bakery on the corner, perhaps, if you were feeling very lazy or ill.
But to go to all the trouble of putting on clothes (bikes and jammies - no!), getting on your bike, getting your legs to make the wheels turn - and not put on shoes? Does not compute.
I hope - I HOPE - I will never be caught riding my bike wearing slippers.
Now flip-flops, that’s something else. Flip-flops are decent shoes. I got married in flip-flops.
There are things which embody all evil in today’s modern western society. To this day no-one, though we were at times acutely aware of their ominous presence, had seen, heard or actually felt what these things might be.
Now we know.
It is my personal belief that they were dropped on earth in an inconspicuous package, by organisms from another planet, galaxy or universe - depending on how persistent they are in wanting to conquer a lump of magma as insignificant as this one. Yes they did, they wrapped the first ever pair of wedge sneakers in an ordinary shoe box and dropped them on some street corner, not too busy, but sure to attract a steady flow of the right kind of girl/ woman who would see a shoe box and wonder what’s inside.
Meaning any girl or woman.
And so it came to be that the first pair of wedge sneakers was worn by the first woman ever who wore wedge sneakers. And, humans being the herdish lot that we are, very soon other women were struck by the oddness of these wedge sneakers. Not by their beauty, for these shoe-like deformities are ugly as hell. Too many straps, a strange tapered shape that makes your foot look like it’s been shortened by a couple of inches with a blunt tool, and then a narrow, high wedge stuck underneath the foot bed, which makes women - perfectly good-looking, elegant women - prance around like rheumatic emus.
'I have got to have those'. It is a thought we women usually get when seeing another woman who has something, anything, that we haven't seen before and which seems at the time like it might be a fashion statement. Often followed later on by remorse, guilt (over the price), shame (over making a fool of yourself hobbling about like a lame giraffe).
Wedge sneakers were brought here by aliens as the first step in their program to conquer us: step 1: first eliminate the stronger sex by making sure they can’t walk properly.
I for one will serve my race and my planet by making sure I can walk properly - run even, if I have to. For this purpose I will vow to never, never, NEVER wear wedge sneakers. Go ahead, fashionistas, I will not judge you. But someone has to stay vigilant.
I wrote about respect for old people. I really do respect them. They don’t always respect you back and for that, I respect them even more. They present to me a shining example and a never-ending source of inspiration on how I want to be in fifty years’ time.
I want to become an Old Bastard. I will be so rude, stubborn and grumpy people will hate me for it and never say so because I’m old. I will do my business wherever/whenever I want to; I will swear all the time; I will mutter audibly but no-one will know what I’m actually saying and it will make me look a bit like an old witch.
I must have one of those scooters. No bloody zimmers for me! Scooters rule. I will take it to a motorbike shop and have the man fiddle with the engine so I can do 45 mph, at least. Not a single snotty-nosed policeman will dare to give me a fine because I will be old and frail-looking.
I will have learned to hack computers by then and by God, I will. Again, no-one will suspect a harmless-looking eighty-five-year-old biddy.
I will hack into the city’s system and shut down traffic lights, change council files, make trams stop in their tracks. I will hold the city for ransom.
I can’t wait to get started. I wish it was 2063 already. I will be the meanest old bastard you have ever seen, and I will enjoy every second of it.
Respect for old people, always.
I am living their life now for a bit, just to show my solidarity. Nothing shows respect for old people like trying to pick up your slipper and failing because somebody’s gone and shoved an iron rod down your neck and spine and for some reason it’s making your head explode whenever you try to move. Even when you move your eyes.
So. To the scientists and inventors who concern themselves with making useful things. Get working on the thingamajig that picks up slippers for people. We need it badly.
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