We were walking down Oxford Street – myself with the Missus, the two minis and the mini-mini in his tank (ok his pram. But it’s a solid piece of baby ride hence its nickname). The pavement was wet from the prior rainfall. And then it happened – the moment when I was ready to set my step-son’s Pokémon cards on fire.
Earlier that day before leaving to pick up the kids from school, I checked Google weather – a daily ritual that dictates which sneakers to wear. Clear it says. All white Sneakers it is. Nice!
We picked the kids up from school and proceeded to run some errands, popping in and out of a few shops before heading home. However, fate took a turn for the worst whilst we were in one of the shops and the sky decided to absolutely shit it down.
Google weather, you Judas!
When the pavements of Oxford Street get wet, they don’t just get wet, they get dirty wet. Murky grey from the pollution ridden rain mixing with the cack on the floor. Just straight yuck.
The rain let up and we made haste homeward bound before it started raining again (speaking of homeward bound, we watched the movie not long ago and noticed that when the younger dog jumps out of the car, he slams the kid into the car door. See video here. Ouch lol). I moved in front, powering the tank ahead. Suddenly, I feel a footstep come down on the back of my right white sneaker.
Time slows. Deep breath in. Exhale through clenched teeth. I spun with the malice of Kylo Ren in The Force Awakens, completely fueled by the dark side to look the perpetrator in the eye. It was my step-son.
He didn’t step on the front of it where it’s leather and could easily be wiped – no, he stepped on the back where it’s mesh. White mesh. With wet, dirty shoes. FML.
At first I was livid. In my head I’m going into a full-on Kylo Ren tantrum. But it wasn’t his fault. He’d spent a full, tiring day at school only to be dragged around busy Oxford Street after. The rest of the journey consisted of me worrying like a little bitch that I wouldn’t be able to get the gunk off the back of my shoe. Sad times.
John Adams, author of DadBlogUK writes in his post “Unexplained mysteries of the parenting world” about the Women of the White Converse Trainers and how despite the potential detriment that parenthood poses to the cleanliness of your footwear, “their shoes are always clean and often pristine. How do they do it?” John, that is an enigma that belongs in Stranger Things because I treat my shoes with some of the best hydrophobic chemicals on the market and they still end up looking like a dog’s butthole after he’s pooped and dragged his hiney on the grass to wipe it.
Luckily, my kicks were savable. I scrubbed the back of that badboy with an abundance of Jason Markk shoe cleaner with one of their premium brushes and the dirt lifted right out. Also, it smells like lavender. And I like lavender. Following this, I treated the shoe with Repel, also by Jason Markk. I normally use Liquiproof but thought I’d give the Repel a shot. You’ll see videos online of people squirting liquids like ketchup to red wine to breast milk on treated shoes and it will just bead off. Boom! Come at me fancy red wine drinking, lactating hotdog eaters!
As you might be able to tell, I’m very protective of my kicks. It’s a love that’s grown with me over the years, well into parenthood. It’s a hobby that started in my childhood which I’ll explain in a later post.
But back to the point at hand, don’t wear your good kicks around your kids unless you have full-on spider senses. And if not, treat them with some decent protector dammit!
Have you had any problems being a sneakerhead dad? Let me know!
Don’t forget to follow The Uncool Dad via email on the right and via Twitter!
See you next week!
The Uncool Dad