And today I went into town and picked up my birthday present coat that I'd ordered and had another look for boots.
I found a lovely pair: nice brown ones, not too high or too low, not too wide or too tight, just Baby Bear right in fact. And I'd tried them on and was admiring them in the mirror when I saw my downfall: purple Doc Marten's.
The sensible bit of my brain said, 'Get these nice brown ones'; the other bit - the larger bit - said, 'Purple Doc Marten's, mmmmm, nice.'
They didn't have them in my size ... so I've ordered them. (They're not the traditional DMs but a shorter slip-on type.)
I blame the poster on the wall in the shoe shop. It said, 'Don't dream the life; live the dream,' so that's what I'm doing. When I told Husband he said, 'I dread to think what your dreams are like.'
"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple." (Jenny Joseph)
Not that I'm old. I never liked being 57 (even with its Hinds/Heinz connotations) because it's an ugly number but I like being 58.