I’d like to apologise in advance to my shoe-obsessed big sister for mentioning this but it still gives me the giggles. When I was younger, my big sister went out into the scary wide world and got herself a job. Her uniform was uber-corporate and smart and soon pointy (size 8.. yes, we are both blessed with skis for feet) shoes started appearing on the lounge floor. Now this might sound strange but pointy shoes were rather progressive for a sleepy coastal town on the Garden Route of South Africa, and I have to admit that they became an item of ridicule. Whenever my sister wasn’t around (because I am no fool), the big pointy shoes would go on my feet and wearing a pair of silly shorts, I would do a little dance in the kitchen for my mother. It became our nightly ritual… until my sister caught us. She was not amused. My mom’s hysterical laughter while she cooked dinner still remains one of my fondest memories of her. But I digress. My sister will love to hear this but a few years ago, I tentatively joined the pointy shoe brigade. (And of course the first thing I did was put them on with shorts and do a funny little dance).