Well perhaps only in my head, but really. Crocs? Is this what my life has come to?

When these monstrosities first came out I was suitably horrified when faced with adults wearing them. Children wearing them was fine, and being the mother of a toddler who loves to go to the local Welsh beaches I totally see the appeal of rugged waterproof shoes that cope with everything that a toddler can throw at them. But grown ups? Really? I mean, why?

These are ugly. Very. Probably the most unflattering thing that you could ever put on your feet. They could only be made more uncool by wearing socks with them. The thought makes me feel slightly ill.

These shapeless and oafish lumps of plastic tat were something that I told myself that I would never stoop to. I had several friends who loved them but I refused to lower myself to that undeniably low standard.

Now I am not what you could call stylish by any stretch. I couldn't give a damn about fashion.
My idea of being suitably attired is a) actually wearing clothes in the first place and b) what is clean and not covered in toddler snot/felt tip/ playdoh? I live in gordonjack boots or bare feet. But even I could see that these things are just wrong.

I have health issues, ME and some mobility problems since having mini-croc wearer, and my pain levels and discomfort have got progressively worse. On a good day I tend to walk like John Wayne and on a bad, well, it ain't pretty. Due to falling apart pelvis and creaky back my ankles and feet were starting to give me gyp.

Somebody suggested crocs. I raised an eyebrow and went back to watching the 8th repeat of "get well soon" on cbeebies. I know how to live see?

But something made me wonder....

I found myself on amazon late at night scouring the "croc pages" with a feeling of shame. Yes they were STILL hideous but maybe they would help me?

And so confession time (it is good for the soul yes? ), I actually bought my first pair of hideous plastic monstrosities. In black (understated colour due to shame issues).

I have worn them around the house (and once when feeling brave ventured into the front garden ) and you know what? I am in a lot less pain than I was. I am partly thrilled by this but also a bit gutted that it took something as revolting as these things to ease said pain.

I now officially have no coolness rating (did I ever have one) and am probably doomed to spending the rest of my life reading SAGA magazine whilst drinking Horlicks. I will be moaning about the price of eggs and the youth of today. I am 43.

Here endeth my confession. Thank you for listening. Saved me a fortune on therapy.