I hit the PeepToe sale in Paddington with my friend Leanne last weekend. We thought getting there at 8:30am was early, but apparently not, because we were beat out by at least 300 girls with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than stand on an empty stretch of sidewalk for hours. The girls at the front of the line had been there since 6:30am and were pretty well acquainted with two bouncers who guarded the door.
We waited in line for almost two hours. Exciting highlights of the wait included: a girl busting out of the line to puke on the grass behind a stone wall (I guess the anticipation was too much for her); a girl in a navy blue Honda rear-ending an old white Mitsubishi (the guy didn’t even notice and drove off, his car completely intact, but the nose of the poor girl’s car was squashed); a group of seven girls and their leopard-print lycra clad mom who sidled up next to us in line and tried to get in front of us. (Leanne shut them down with one of her patented ninja death stares and they fell back pretty quickly. Don’t mess with Leanne, because she’ll totally fuck you up).
Anyway, when we got to the front of the line, after standing FOR AGES in the sun (and people, I cannot stress to you enough how crappy it is to stand in the hot, Australian, albeit winter, sun when you have dark hair. I’d be rich if they could think of ways to harness the heat that gets absorbed into my head and use it for good. Or evil. Usually you make more money out of evil, right?), the bouncer cut the next group to enter right behind us, which meant Budgey Mcbudger and the Budgertons had to wait at least another half hour to get in. HA.
The hall inside was massive, and crammed with rows and rows of black and white striped boxes. Besides the sound of Britney Spears’ Circus pumping through the speakers, and the occasional scream of “MINE!”, everyone was remarkably quiet and focused, digging through boxes as the poor staff ran around behind us trying to stop complete anarchy from taking hold. I was so happy to be inside that I really had to struggle with the urge to frolic around the room, but I managed to pull myself together, headed over to the row marked “size 38” and started grabbing boxes.
Some of what they had on offer screamed “drag queen” and “stripper” what with the crazy-ho platforms, glitzy rhinestones and 10 inch heels (I suppose there’s a good reason why certain things go on sale), but I managed to dig up some amazing little gold heels which I’ll be wearing to my friend’s wedding in September. They’re called “Miss Garnet” and we had a little cuddle when I got home.