When my mother-in-law died she had an impressive collection of shoes.
Like me she had long feet and in the early years of her life had the dickens of a job finding shoes to fit. Later in the 1980s as mass production took off in a big way, it became much easier to source what she wanted by mail order, and in those retail park malls where tall-and-small shoe shops found a niche.
This meant that, by the time what she wanted was available, she had a deep-rooted conviction this was a rare opportunity to be seized at all costs, and she purchased pretty much every pair of shoes she ever found that would fit her.
I have fallen into the same trap. Fear of missing out. Fear of letting a chance go by.
As my joints became softer and more troublesome and my feet became painful, I was on a mission to find shoes that would work for me —and as you know, for the most part I failed, until I hit upon the Birkenstock beach sandals. Partly fuelled by anxiety over rising costs resulting from Brexit (because Birkenstock is a European firm), I pounced with glee, and bought them in every colour they did in my size, which was stupid because of course I don't actually want to wear all these colours. Two, in particular, I find rather in-your-face and strident. And frankly, not being a centipede I don't need all that many pairs of shoes.
So here go two pairs. I think it's a bit pernickety to say each shoe is an item; I'm saying one pair is an item. So two pairs of shoes are my two items for today, going on Freegle.
And I say to them, Goodbye and thank you and may you bring joy to your new feet.