In the Boot Cupboard

‘This mud-pack is doing me no good at all – it’s got to come off!’

‘All that running and stretching – I seem to be losing my shape not keeping it.’

‘My thong is twisted and is definitely not in the right place.’

‘I’ve been lying here for ages and no one has made use of me at all.’

‘That was a really good going over. I’m ready for anything now.’

‘I feel used.’

It was business as usual in the boot cupboard with everyone talking at once and nobody listening, when suddenly the door opened and a pair of well-worn slippers came flying through the air and landed on top of the green wellingtons. The door was slammed shut and all was dark except for the strips of light filtering through the ventilation slats at the bottom of one wall.

‘Well that’s that for a fortnight,’ sighed the slippers into the silence, as they slid off the wellies and settled slightly awkwardly next to the trainers. ‘They are off on their holidays.’

‘But they can’t be - they haven’t taken us,’ objected the faded blue rubber flip-flops with a squeal.

‘They bought pretty, new, pink patterned flip-flops when I was out with them yesterday, and they’ve probably also chosen some of the smart lot from the cupboard above stairs to go with them,’ answered the trainers briskly.

‘Oooooh! That’s not fair,’ wailed the flip-flops.

‘Now stop moaning,’ said the trainers, ‘and let’s think of how we can fill the time before we are taken out again. Any ideas?’ The trainers were quite looking forward to a rest for a few days but knew that the atmosphere in the cupboard would become quite unpleasant unless some of the occupants could be distracted.

Silence.

‘What about telling stories?’ suggested the slippers tentatively, ‘I was watching a programme on TV last evening….’

‘You’re always watching that mind-numbing appliance,’ interrupted the patent black leather from their box in the corner.

‘... the item was about people going to Canterbury in the olden days. All the travellers had to tell a story.’

‘Who were they?’ asked the wellies.

‘I don’t know ,’ replied the slippers,’ I was shuffled out to make some tea, but perhaps we could tell stories too.’

The members of the cupboard fraternity contemplated this proposition for a minute or two.

‘So what would we talk about?’ asked the trainers doubtfully.

‘Anything – how about .. um.. the things we’ve seen and our best and worst experiences outside this cupboard.’

So it was agreed that each pair would take it in turn to tell stories for one evening. Since it was their idea the comfy slippers had to begin. They told of the different houses, big and small, grand and simple, that they had gone to visit, and of the time they got burnt by being put too close to an open log fire. They spoke of their trip to Japan where, because they were visitors, they were treated as royalty amongst a profusion of house slippers, bath slippers, children’s slippers, kitchen slippers and several others they couldn’t remember. The only regret was that they couldn’t speak Japanese. There’s a limit to the amount of sign language possible between two pairs of slippers.

The trainers needed no encouragement once they had got started. They described the city streets and bustling shopping malls, the leafy park and stuffy gym, the dark, boring car and the thrill of bike rides, the messy paths and muddy playing fields. It was only when they got to their experience of a full cycle in the washing machine that the narrative faltered, and the horror described caused an intake of breath amongst the listeners.

By the time it got to the flip-flops they couldn’t wait to launch into tales of sun drenched beaches; dusty, noisy market places; castle ramparts and Roman amphitheatres; cool, shady pools and crowded ferries. Every ounce of drama was extracted when describing the day the flip-flops slid off the deck of a yacht and began bobbing away towards Africa. The dread of drowning, the terror of being swung through the air in a fishing net, and the relief of their return on board, were gone through in minute and graphic detail.

On the following night the excited, silly headed flip-flops called over to the silver stiletto.

‘Come on it’s your turn - bet you haven’t had as much fun as us. Tell us what you’ve seen and done.’ Suddenly there was a heavy, embarrassed silence. No one was quite sure what to do. The memory of the awful night when the once shiny stiletto had returned broken and single, came flooding back.

‘Oh I’m so sorry. I forgot - I didn’t mean…..’ stumbled the appalled flip-flop.

‘Um –err-ummph… well shall we take up the baton tonight?’ muttered the walking boots. ‘We haven’t travelled to such exotic places as some, but we’ve seen some very fine views and climbed a fair few hills in our time.’

So the story telling continued. The slow, shy wellingtons took some persuading but had a tale or two to tell of the follies of human nature, and of brave deeds in floods and snow. Even the black patent specials, who always considered themselves a class above the others in the cupboard, condescended to describe some of the smart cocktail parties and glamorous theatre evenings that they had graced before their owner decided to place comfort above fashion.

On the final evening when all had said their piece and there was silence in the cupboard, the comfy slippers, in a moment of insight commented,’ Funny isn’t it – we are all so different and yet belong to one person.’ And after a pause, ‘ I guess we all have our uses one way or another.’

PS

(This was the first version but I decided that I ought to modify the first paragraph somewhat if it was to go anywhere near being offered for the parish magazine!)