Sunday sore me slung on the lounge under a blanket recovering.
My feet and legs were super-sore. My body was achingly-tight. My throat was dry. My hair oily and knotted. My head a little sensitive.
What happened? A wedding on Saturday night, in the country surrounded by weathered bricks and flickering fairy lights. With endless amounts of bubbles, booze n’ beats.
My body the result of a few too many glasses of bubbles combined with mega moves by me on the dance floor. The DJ was in total tune with my dance numbers. One old school song after another, slightly sweaty, I moved and grooved to the late hours of the night. Only really stopping to refill my glass with more bubbles.
Weddings do something to me, they magically make me dance wildly – more than I normally would. And whoever is open to it, I’ll crump-and-bump with them – arms pumping and all. I admit with two hands up, I love to dance and bust a move. At weddings, I unashamedly love to get down and low, wave my hands in the air, even get the air mike out and sing a line or two – encouraging others to play my dance game.
At the wedding just past, it dawned on me that as my day draws closer I need to think shoes. I’ve been rather relaxed about tying the knot, most details are sorted but the shoes are still in limbo. My mind says ‘think fashion’, my body says ‘think comfort’. But then I stumbled across these and they made me smile.
So should I or shouldn’t I get a little cray-cray and show my inner foodie on my feet for my big day? Yay or nay?