There are still restaurant and travel posts from this past spring awaiting a final polish, as indeed another installment of
The Merchant Prince ('s tut mir leid, Herr Lehar), but I needed a chuckle this morning, and my old friend Mr. Jolly Inbox Stuffer, stepped up.
Back in the days of a strong $ I found myself in London and in a moment of whimsy, I bought my dad a pair of embroidered velvet slippers. Yes, from a real live small English shoe store, not from S&W. I pictured Pop in a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, in an armchair, leafing through a cherished volume of P.G.Wodehouse, OurDog snoozing at his velvet-covered feet. I made a guess at the size, and picked an embroidered motif which was not someone else's family crest. Pop loved the slippers, I was relieved that my wild guess at his shoe size had been accurate, and the rest of the mental picture - didn't matter. Here's the key point:
they were slippers. They were to be worn inside the house. And that is how Pop wore them, and they lasted a very long time indeed. OurDog slobbered when he snoozed, so he was not allowed near the slippers, whether they were on Pop or off Pop. That, plus British craftsmanship, helped.
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| Not Pop |
This morning's Inbox was just bursting with goodies, not the least of which was an email from J.Crew, announcing the advent of a pair of possibly S&W velvet shoes meant for, I guess, normal shoe wear. I will leave elaboration of this dubious concept to the Mitfords, but - people, these are supposed to be house slippers. And enjoyed as such. Even if the only way you enjoy them is by laughing uproariously in the privacy of your own library-with-wood-burning-fireplace at the make-believe decoration that embellishes the red ones or the make-believe monogram that just might, if carefully teased apart, yield the letters DL for Dear Leader. Negotiations open at $400. Fortunately you can download the library books for free, if you're patient. I do understand that sometimes these things are worn out of the house, generally at events that I do not attend, but the uses are limited: velvet stains and spots easily and is next to impossible to clean, and most parts of the world have weather that is unkind to velvet.
Of course if all you want of a slipper is that it be something to slip on your feet when you're not wearing shoes, Mr. Jolly Inbox Stuffer provided that alternative also, via an email from Urban Outfitters. These so-called Grandma slippers are $16. They, too, carry a hint of (someone's) heritage, because somewhere, somehow, someone's grandmother crocheted something. If not for you, then for someone.
I'm sure the expensive slippers are selling fast. I'm not shaking my head over this, people have to have
something to do when a whole day of convention festivities is called off, and for this purpose conspicuous consumption is about as harmless an activity as frustrated conventioneers can get up to.
I leave you with the thought of the day:
It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor.
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| Also Not Pop, but note sensible slippers. |
This is not my original thought, I forget who said it, but I thank whoever it was for making me stop and think.
