MBT Mania!

PoshMum rocked slowly to and fro on her MBT-clad heels, completely absorbed in (and gratified by) by the resultant feeling of tautness in her gluteus maximus. It was a crisp and sunny winter’s morn, and she was, as usual, dressed to intimidate; her athleticised legs and lean buttocks encased in a clingy, totally fab pair of CandidaFaria gym ‘pants’. Her entire outfit matched, but not in that embarrassing ‘uncool’ way – CandidaFaria, the eponymous and unbelievably hip Brazilian brand, was fantastic, with stretchy, body-hugging fabrics, subtle touches of colour (no leery, vulgar gym gear here!) and cute go-faster stripes down the legs for that all-important ‘lengthening’ touch. PoshMum, the ultimate narcissist, just loved the male attention she received on her gym-day school runs; she knew she was ‘hot’ (to ‘paraphrase’ Paris Hilton). PoshHubby certainly thought so - he had made a surprise attack on her, pouncing from behind when she was bent over the dish-washer. A quick swat with a slimy dish-cloth soon cooled his ardour!

This morning was School-Run Mum power walking morning; five of the hippest, coolest mothers were foregathered in the playground resplendent in their huge, rounded MBT trainers waiting for the bell to ring. After this they would kiss their offspring goodbye and zoom briskly around the Park, taking exercise that was healthy, trendy, (displaying knowledge of new products with a fun twist), and safe (no damaged ligaments or sore knees). PoshMum (as ever an early adopter) had first spied them on the shelves in Sweaty Betty back in 2004; she had been so proud of her great big silver shoes (and the attention they got from those who had never seen their like before) that she wore everywhere, even to church, and had to be dissuaded from taking them skiing. PoshMum found MBT's to be reassuringly expensive (£129 - £135) and she had even considered forking out £125 for a pair of MBT Kisumu sandals, but, in all honesty there were just too ‘dreadlock, crusty hippy’ for her tastes, although it would be fun to present PoshHusband with a pair of the black brogue-alike's and challenge him to wear them at the office.

Now, as she stood there in her sexy black MBT Sport’s she amused herself by counting the other pairs that had sprung up like a rash after the Christmas holiday. Now, the average posh school mum was the opposite of ‘fashion-forward’, seeking safety in numbers, and eschewing all new styles and trends until assured that at least one third of the playground was wearing it. Take hooded jackets for example – PoshMum (who prided herself in being reasonably clued up in the fashion stakes) had searched high and low for a padded jacket (fitted and cut short to the hip, with fur round the hood for that cute 1970’s touch). It took her ages to find one and as soon as she had - wait a minute – they sprang up on the backs of all her peers overnight (North Face and Hobbs were the best!). And those few that were not wobbling about in new MBT’s were styling it casually in the ever present flat, knee high, suede boots. Competitive PoshMum was getting quite cross about it; as soon as she found something she liked everyone else bl**dy got one! God, it was all so predictable. . . . . . and yet strangely reassuring. With everyone dressed just the same at least one could decide who to talk to in the park, or on the train from Victoria.

Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hello girls, mind if I join in?” piped Dolores, who was picture perfect in a brown North Face gilet over a Sweaty Betty tracksuit and MBT trainers that were so new they practically gleamed.

“Hi Dolores, those are nice, when did you get them?” asked Felicity.

“Oh these? Aled bought them for me for Christmas as a surprise. Isn’t he just a darling? I was so thrilled – I’ve been wanting them for ages, and they’re so expensive I daren’t buy them for myself.” said Dolores with sweet humility. (“A fine story!” thought PoshMum to herself, “Geeky Aled has absolutely no interest in women’s footwear (we hope!) and wouldn’t have even the remotest idea of which shop to buy them from.”). And Dolores could be guaranteed to turn up at the school gate with whatever new item PoshMum had worn the week before. It drove her mad - it was time to make a point.

“How so?” she enquired sharply, “The official MBT retailers won’t sell the shoes without a proper fitting; you have to be measured precisely, watch the demo and go through a coaching session with the specially trained staff!”

“Umm! What I meant is that Aled took me to the shop as a surprise,” said Dolores hastily, “You know, they sell them at Dr Boo in East Dulwich!”.

“How lovely.” said PoshMum with some degree of irony; they all knew full well that Dolores had rushed out and bought the MBT’s herself last week when it had finally dawned on her that they were now popular. “Right, no more time for dawdling, let’s go!”

So off they all trotted, gossiping, laughing and having a gay old time in general. Dolores trailed behind; she was clearly unused to the feel of these strange new shoes, and her muscles had not yet adjusted to the peculiar ‘rolling’ sole. Halfway around Dulwich Park, they heard a series of piteous groans and turned to see poor Dolores hobbling along painfully behind them.

“Whatever is the matter?!” cried Lucy rushing to her aid. Dolores limped to a nearby bench and took off her shoes, revealing a mass of red and angry blisters on heel and toes.

PoshMum stood with her hands on her hips and looked with impatience at the sorry sight.

“You didn’t have them fitted, did you?” she said, “I’m sorry girls, I must keep going – I’ve got a Guinot Hydradermie booked for 11.30, then the curtain man is coming and then it’s Waitrose.”

She leaned down towards Dolores and hissed in her ear so the others could't hear;

“Sorry I can’t stay to help sweetie; never mind, you'll soon be wearing a pair of Chung Shi’s instead. I bought myself a pair last week!”