Slip Slips
Slippers get a raw deal and it’s not fair! How severe is this raw-deal? Pretty severe as it goes: in the last twenty years even serial-killers have become fashionable and likeable, while slippers, yes SLIPPERS, have been left behind to rot in the pool of unfashionable taboos, along with donning shell-suits as a family and actively listening to the legend that is Chesney Hawkes. For years—or maybe even eternities—they have been the laughing-stock of the foot dwelling world. Mocked, ridiculed and ostracized simply because while wearing slippers it is the nicest thing in the world just to kick back in front of the fire and light a tobacco pipe (something which I have to admit signifies stationary oldness above pretty much anything apart from complaining abut drafts coming under the door).
Please strap yourself in for this statement. And now double-check you are strapped in, because it is coming and it is now here: I am under forty and I am a slipper wearer, will always be a slipper-wearer, and would give my right arm for the first pair of slippers I ever owned to be returned by the evil thief who stole them in 1996. There, take that! I don’t feel shame! I don’t want you to feel sorry for me! I don’t want anyone to treat me any differently from someone wearing Prada. All I want—as well as occasionally venturing in to the outside world for replacement slipper in-soles—is to come back from a hard day’s work or slip out of the luxury bedding in the morning and relax in my slippers, and feel that loving sensation that they give. I shall never change and be free of my slipper taboo. And the thing is, I don’t want to be. Wearing slippers is just too satisfying a thing to do and I can not see myself living a slipper-less life.