MY VIEW: Katrina Hall and socks appeal

Earlier in the week I was standing at the traffic lights when I felt a lovely warm feeling on my right foot. Soon enough it turned cold and wet and then I realised my dog had mistaken my leg for a pole. There was a telltale puddle on the concrete below, and a woman sitting on a nearby bench almost fell off her seat laughing.

Right now the dog is in the doghouse. It’s not the first time he’s done it, either. Last time it was at a different set of traffic lights, so clearly the message is I need to be careful when crossing roads.

I’ve also had an issue with sock marks this week, so it’s been an ordinary time for my legs generally.

Sock marks are the scourge of the busy woman. They are an indication that your day has not been spent lounging around on a massage table or having a gentle dip at the day spa, that’s for sure.

Mostly, sock marks are a sign that you have been flat out running around doing jobs, picking up after other people, banging away at a desk or getting groceries, all the time wearing sensible pants and comfortable shoes, because why would you do any of this boring stuff in anything else?

Then at the end of the day you have five minutes to shed those dull garments and whack on a frock and some heels because, joy of joys, for once you get to go out for dinner with your friends or pretend you’re a grown-up at a work thing.  

This, of course, doesn’t happen often. I stress that point for no reason really, other than the fact that it should be stressed as often as possible.

Anyway, you’re going out. You might get changed in the bathroom at work, or while your kids are eating fish fingers in front of the TV, but the upshot is you don’t have much time to make the transition from day to night in any kind of respectable fashion.

Which is why, when you get to where you need to go, you look down and see big red circular welts above your ankles. This is where the elastic from the sensible socks you got from the Bonds outlet or your other-half’s bedside drawer has spent the day hanging out.

I don’t wear heels often. In fact, I believe nobody has any business wearing high heels during daylight hours. At night, fine, put them on if you like them because hopefully you won’t have to move much, say just from lovely restaurant to taxi or cocktail bar to the dunnies.  

High heels are ridiculous inventions. Google “models falling over” if you need further evidence.

The thing is, though, a high heel may prevent you from, well, from walking, but a sock mark from a sensible shoe will always let you down. It’s the ball-and-chain visual, a reminder that high heels don’t happen that much and neither do nights out. Plus, it takes a good hour for a sock mark, which has developed in the course of a busy day, to disappear. Time it.  

That’s pretty much what happened to me this week. There I was, all dressed up at a work party with a new black dress and some slinky shoes, feeling quietly confident and absolutely thrilled to be out of the house, until I realised my main accessory was two bright red sock marks.

You’ll be relieved (pardon the pun!) to know I wasn’t wearing the shoes I walk the dog in.