I think I've finally begun to hobble less over the last 10 days from a one day, ten hour stint in a prized pair of burnt orange, pebble grain, vintage wingtips.
Evidently the prior owner gave them up for adoption for good reason. That wasn't exactly paying it forward. They could have at least come with a disclaimer like, "Caution, May Include Suffering."
Sadly, I knew at the end of that day that my get-up lost it's nattyness when someone asked me if they should call for a gurney. And with any luck, maybe the offer of a vintage percodan to go along with my vintage wingtips wouldn't be too far behind.
While I shall not give up on my dirty red Florsheims, my mistress Birkeys will always be near. That, and a big-ass glass of scotch.
Credits:
hookedonvintage.com
scienceblog.com
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