Every Second Counts

Clothing says a lot in this charming short story by Linda Lewis.

WOW, Ruth! I love your shoes!” “Thanks, Liz. Now I know why they’re called killer heels.”

I slipped one off my foot and rubbed my ankle.

“My feet are killing me.” She laughed.

“Your ex would love them.”

“Don’t tell me about it,” I said with feeling.

Glenn was all about appearances. Tall, dark and so handsome, it didn’t seem fair on the rest of mankind.

When he’d singled me out I was flattered, but as time went by he wanted me to change – new hairstyle, more make-up, heels, etc.

I went along with it until he started talking about a new nose, Botox and liposuction.

I told him that I was happy being size fourteen and that my nose reminded me of my amazing grandmother. Suddenly, we were over.

I was taking a break from dating until my baby sister signed up for speed-dating and persuaded me to give it a go.

I’d never tried it before and thought it might be fun.

I don’t meet a lot of men in my line of work. I run a mobile dog-grooming service, and most of the owners are either a lot older than I am, female or both.

“Do you think he’s here for the speed-dating?” Liz asked.

She pointed to a smartly dressed man at the bar. I shook my head.

“Not from the look of his shoes. They’re brand new. He’s trying to make a good impression.

“My guess is he’s either meeting a woman for a first date or he’s been to an interview.”

“What about her?” Liz pointed to a tall woman who’d just arrived.

Her shoes were elegant and expensive, but her outfit didn’t fit very well and nothing quite matched.

“I think she’s recently divorced. She’s been on a diet and is planning to get new outfits once she reaches her target weight.

“She may be looking for a new man, but I can’t imagine her speed-dating.”

Even as I spoke, the lady sashayed over to the man wearing the new shoes.

Seconds later, they left the bar together.

“How do you do that?” Liz asked.

“It’s the shoes,” I replied. “They tell you an awful lot about people.”

“How?” Liz asked. “I mean, they’re just shoes.” I shook my head.

“Take how clean they are. There’s ordinary clean, which is fine, then there’s so polished you could use them as mirrors, which isn’t.

“If there’s a bit of mud, that’s a good sign. It means the wearer is happy being outdoors, and they might even have a dog.”

“OK. That makes sense. So what about him?” Liz indicated a middle-aged man sitting at a corner table, wearing an immaculate suit and tie.

“His clothes look expensive,” she continued. “Estate agent?”

I checked out his shoes. I’d seen an identical pair for sale in ShoeZone for less than £15.

“My guess is he’s married and his wife chooses his clothes. She has expensive tastes, while he prefers the simple life. The discount store shoes are his way of rebelling.”

Before I’d finished speaking, a woman appeared at the man’s side.

“There you are,” she said. “I thought I’d lost you. Come along, we don’t want to be late.”

As the couple left, a voice rang out over the Tannoy system.

“We’re ready to start the speed-dating event.

Ladies, please take your seats.”

“Good luck,” Liz said. “You, too, but I don’t need luck. Their shoes will tell me who to tick.”

The first man had tried too hard. He’d chosen to wear a suit, which was fine, but his shoes matched his tie.

Either he had lots of ties and matching shoes, or he had two of each and kept rotating them.

I guessed it was the latter when he only had two topics of conversation: the weather and last night’s TV.

Man number two’s hair had been recently cut and his skin glistened as though he’d stepped out of a shower moments before, but his shoes gave him away.

They were brown, but his jeans were black. He’d tried, but it was all on the surface.

The moment he

Speed dating didn’t allow for much conversation, but there was a lot I could tell from looking at shoes!

opened his mouth to speak, he proved me right. Talk about shallow.

Number three had very fashionable, hugely expensive designer shoes. I could tell they were hurting his feet by the way he walked to the table.

Those shoes were there for one reason only: to impress. I guessed he hadn’t had time to break them in sufficiently.

He turned on his slimy charm the second he sat down.

When he invited me to go away with him that weekend, I turned him down, hard.

Number four was wearing newish trainers and a genuine smile. He wasn’t the least bit fazed when he arrived at my table, even though I was easily ten years his senior.

The conversation didn’t falter, either, despite our lack of things in common.

I knew he’d be perfect for Liz, so I made a note of his number.

She might have overlooked him thanks to the smooth talkers, like number three.

As the evening went on, I began to think I’d end up with no ticks on my card.

The men had all been duller than dusters, too pushy, or we had nothing in common.

Then the last man sat down and I changed my mind.

His name was David. He was the right age, mid to late thirties, and his shoes, brown lace-ups, could have belonged to a much older man. They were well worn, too.

I didn’t need to see the soles to know that they’d been mended more than once.

Clearly he preferred fit and comfort to looks. He liked good value and didn’t mind how old things were.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice softened by the smile that went all the way to his warm brown eyes.

“I’m studying your shoes.” He laughed.

“I spent ages searching for the right clothes and picking the right aftershave. I didn’t even think about shoes.

“Dare I ask why you’re studying them?” he replied.

“Shoes tell me everything

I need to know about a man,” I confessed. “Yours say this is your first go at speed-dating and that you’re thinking it might have been a mistake.” He nodded.

“This was my son’s idea. I hadn’t even thought about dating since I got divorced three years ago. He said I needed to ‘get back out there’.

“So, do my shoes tell you anything else?” he went on. “I’m intrigued.”

“I’m not sure, but I’m hoping you have a dog.”

He smiled and I could see that he was impressed.

“Two crazy cocker spaniels. Is there anything else?”

I looked into his eyes. “Your shoes tell me that you’re more interested in a woman’s mind and her personality than her looks.

“Rather than judge people by what they look like or how old they are, you like to see how they fit – the same thing you want from your shoes.”

He sat there for a few moments without saying a word, then asked if he could have a look at my shoes.

I drew my legs from under the table and showed him my killer heels.

He looked taken aback. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t you like high heels?”

“Of course I do. It’s just that . . .”

“Go on,” I prompted. “They’re not what I was expecting. You’re wearing a lot less make-up than most of the women here.

“I guess I was hoping you’d wear more . . .” he searched for the right word “. . . sensible shoes.” I smiled.

“You’re so right. These things are a nightmare.” I pushed them off my feet, stretched and wiggled my toes.

“I changed into them when I got here. These are what I normally wear.” I pulled a pair of brown, very well-worn comfortable lace-ups from my bag.

They were exactly like his, only smaller.

“So, David, are you going to tick any of the women you’ve met tonight?”

“Just one,” he said, then he reached for my hand.

The End.