Oddly, the previous post was not the most shocking element of the day, that was reserved for the full horror that is known as the "Shoe Galleries" in Selfridges.
As a heterosexual male, I hasten to add this visit was primarily at the behest of my female companion although I wont deny a certain disturbed curiosity in something with such a grand title. Dear reader if you have not sampled this unique experience, allow me to provide an aid to your understanding. Imagine, if you will, the dankest weights room populated with a selection of men with no neck and an excess of muscle. The air is thick with the musky scent of man, as if testosterone had been atomised.
The "Shoe Galleries" are the nearest Female approximation of this, in terms of the heavy cloying atmosphere of frenzied female foot fetishists. In addition the many and varied perfumes accompanying these women on their seemingly unending quest for foot-based perfection reduce the volume of breathable air to that of Everest. (It is fortunate that smoking is not permitted in such a location as I imagine the resulting fireball would level half of Oxford Street)
I can safely say, at no prior time in my life have I felt so out of place for having my genitalia on the outside of my body.
No comments:
Post a Comment