Mismatched shoes and all
Ever get into your car to go somewhere and realize you’re wearing two different shoes? No? Sigh. I had a feeling it was just me. The problem is, I stepped into the garage with my hands full, and just slipped on my flip-flops without looking. Yeah. I don’t recommend that.
I got all the way to the library before I realized. Or correction, a cute little five year old standing next to me at the check-out realized for me. “Hey, your shoes don’t match. One’s green and white, and the other is bright red.”
Huh. Look at that.
From there I had to run into the grocery store (because the people in my house actually think I should feed them every day). At that check out, it was an older woman who looked down at my feet in confusion. “Honey, are your shoes mis-matched, or did I pick up my husband’s glasses again?”
Tempted to tell her she’d grabbed the wrong glasses, my youngest piped in. “Nah. She’s just on deadline. Her shoes never match when she’s on deadline.”
At the hardware store, where I needed help deciding which belt I needed for my vacuum, the guy looked down at my feet and scratched his head in bafflement.
“They don’t match,” my daughter told him ever so helpfully.
He merely blinked, but to his credit, refrained from looking at me like a freak. See, I’m thinking he didn’t think it was so odd to be wearing two different kinds of shoes. But then again, he was sporting pants that fell down with every step he took because he had them slung under his butt cheeks instead of over. To each his own, I say.