Wednesday, 10 October 2012

Look out! It's the phantom Ugg-shredder!

Hello there!  This week I promised a look at toddlers dressed in designer labels.  I've since decided that's it none of my business how people dress their children.  Let's just say that there are a lot of silly people who want their children to value their clothes more than Life Itself.  Good for them.  But if I see their kids in Ralph Lauren, I’m still going to laugh and point. 

But talking of designer items for’s a thought for you this week:

I take my lads to rugby on Saturday mornings.  I enjoy being a spectator, especially if I grab an Americano to get me through (there are lots of large dads there from many nations).  But even more fun, is watching the sideline sisters. 

Every Saturday across the nation, sideline sisters get dragged along to watch their brothers punch other brothers.  The sisters do two things: either kick a ball about listlessly on the sideline, or they read Closer magazine (which is bestowed upon them as a peace offering/bribe).  By the end of the session last week, one of the little Closer readers was crying about Nicole Kidman (I often cry about Nicole Kidman).  The poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.  If a child of mine ever cries over a celebrity, I will drag them to the nearest soup kitchen and tell them to serve the homeless for the day – so they have some proper sad stories to cry over.

I confess, I'm more inclined towards the ball-kickers (so to speak) than the magazine readers.  In fact, I'm transfixed by the ball-kickers.  Do not picture girls utilising their limbs with force and gusto, in a manner that has the Bath rugby players eyeing them for blind-side flanker next season.  No.  These girls stand with their jumper sleeves pulled down over their knuckles, their skinny legs barely able to move because they are shackled by Uggs.  They try to kick the rugby ball in Uggs, but nope - they just can’t get their legs to work.  The Uggs are too padded, floppy, too heavy, too cumbersome.

Course, I blame that huge green turnip that was stood outside the Bagel shop in
New Jersey in 2001 for starting the Ugg craze off in the first place

It’s not just on the sidelines that this is happening.  Oh no.  Little girls in Uggs walk in zombie-like droves around our shopping centres.  Their legs are emaciated in skinny jeans – legs that are made to look thinner by those huge Uggs.  Their feet are so heavy that they scuff their boots along.

I always feel the same way when I spot an Ugg Child.  I want to run up to them with a giant pair of scissors and set the child’s feet free.  Go my child – run, breathe, kick leaves, jump in puddles, inhale life!!!

Of course, not only do I not own a giant pair of scissors, but some parents might object to my cutting up their child’s shoes.  Perhaps I should wait until they go somewhere where they need to remove their footwear, like a bowling alley.  Then I can creep through with my father’s shears and quietly snip snip snip.

So next time you see an Ugg Child - and you will - preferably at a bowling alley, please think of me.  And pop a pair of shears in your bag, in case the opportunity strikes. 

Until next time, my friends.....

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