It’s an odd thing to be unable to walk in a pair of shoes you purchased many moons in the past, yet have not worn for a while. That’s what happened to me all morning at work, and since I don’t drink, I’ve been unable to blame my stumbling around on a hangover. In thinking about it, maybe I should take up boozing. Other than making my job easier to endure, I’d have a good excuse as to why I’ve been stumbling all over the place today.
North Texas has about as much seismic activity as the dunes of the Sahara. The ground here dries up frequently which leads to houses shifting and large cracks forming in the ceiling, but we come up short on earthquakes each year. So why is it that the ground was moving left whenever I would go right today? If I hadn’t caught myself as I stumbled at one point in the men’s room, I’d have gone spelunking in the john.
The shoes themselves are nothing out of the ordinary, simply black dress shoes. Were My Fair Lady in the room, she could tell me what shade of black they were, who made them, where they were made, and how they make my butt look better based on how I stand in them. From my point of view, they were one of two pairs of black shoes I own, and they were closest to me when I opened the closet door this morning. And now I can barely walk in them without stumbling.
Should I wear the black pants I have on again this week, I think I’ll venture further into the closet and find the other pair of black shoes. Being able to walk fearlessly might be worth an extra step into the closet.