Betty's first ever shoe fitting today.
In light of my bunioned, corned, ingrowing toenailed, fungal infected feet - things will be different for The Poop. And now she is attempting a few steps when holding onto furniture, the time had come. So we took ourselves off to Clarks.
The assistant did look slightly baffled when I presented tiny Boo and requested a fitting, so I whipped out one of my gnarled trotters. Revolted and now in urgent need of counselling, she nodded and dutifully obliged. While the assistant was gone, we sat waiting on the benches. I looked at Betty's cute little face as she studied the shop, intrigued. Then that familiar glazed expression suddenly swept her face.
She went red.
Then the stench hit. Just as the unsuspecting assistant returned. Say nothing I thought.
She presented the foot measuring device thingy and knelt down by The Poop's feet, her face instantly crumpling at the pungent odour that had obviously traversed the short trajectory from nappy to lady shop assistant's nose. Say nothing I thought. Fighting her instinctive compulsion to recoil in horror, the poor woman pressed on with the measuring far more quickly than she might have under fresher, less polluted circumstances. Once all measured the assistant stood, assuming a position a good six feet from where we were sitting, before sharing, through pursed lips, details of Boo's length and width fitting. Say nothing I thought. She then scuttled off to locate the tiny selection of shoes available in The Poop's size.
Say something I thought.
"Ooh! You stink!" I yelled at the very top of my voice. "Have you pooed?"
I carefully studied the wryly smiling assistant's face as I went on to make a massive song and dance about the contents of The Poop's nappy. Not a flicker. She parcelled up the shoes and took them over to the till, where I watched her have a right old chin wag with the other woman about "that incontinent woman over there who blames her accidents on her innocent little baby". After a few more last ditch ramblings : "I desperately need to change your nappy"/"that dinner's gone right through you", I resigned myself to beingforever known in this particular branch of Clarks as 'The Woman Unable To Control The Movements Of Her Own Bowel, With Sickeningly Deformed Feet.
Deflated, I paid for the shoes. As soon as we left the shop, Betty gave a massive cheer.