Because ongoing information regarding my footwear is intriguing no matter who you are, I am compelled to update you on my new shoes.
The ones that only recently replaced Leftie and Stompie.
Ah. Leftie and Stompie. Now those were good shoes: up-and-coming shoes, forthright shoes, the kind of shoes that would trot you down a city street just as fast as you cared to go. Those shoes not only knew when to keep their mouths shut but had excellent credit scores and a good head for baseball stats.
Those shoes once saved a drowning child.
But the new ones? They’ve been bitterly disappointing.
The Traitors, as I’ve come to think of them, were comfy in the store. Lovely suede loafers. Best of all, they were an incredible 70% off the retail price.
Seventy percent off!
Who amongst us can resist a $14 pair of shoes?
I put them on, trod the carpeted aisles of the DSW. I pretended to run for the bus, held up an arm and yelled “Wait! Wait!” I pretended to sidestep a wad of gum on the street. I went one way, imagined I had forgotten something and quickly went the other way. I did a quick Charleston.
So far, so good.
But really, with shoes? How can you know?
You can’t; and The Traitors revealed themselves to be untrustworthy, blister-causing turncoats on their first wearing.
Oh, sure, they were my friends in the store, weren’t they? “Buy me! I go with everything! I’m 70% off!”
They bit me, those shoes, again and again. Within blocks of my house, I was in trouble. By the time I had reached the bus stop, my heels were in tears. Why had I forsaken them?
The blisters formed. The left one tore open. Unflattering opinions were shouted, blame firmly placed on my skinflint shoulders. My feet declared me to be a menace to working soles everywhere and plans were drawn up by the left one to leave the lower legs and strike out on their own.
And so I’ve done what any normal person would do. I’ve dug Leftie and Stompie out of the garbage can (where they sat, patiently, in the box of the new ones).
They’ve been reinstated.
The Traitors have been contained in their original box and isolated, left to think about what they’ve done.
They’ll be going back to the store from whence they came.
And that brings us up-to-date regarding my footwear. Tune in again tomorrow when I relate a story about a jacket button that needs replacing.
I got a million of ‘em.