So imagine you are me. No! Stop that. This is how your day would go if you were to do that, though.
I work from home, with one bedroom shoe on, on my right foot, because that foot uses the foot pedal for my job. I’m actually an organ grinder. No, no I’m not. But how cool would that be! With a monkey and everything! Okay, so I’m just a radiology transcriptionist. Anyway, the foot pedal is rough to my sensitive feet. Well, it is.
And then there’s a knock at the door, while I’m on the phone, and I answer the door, suddenly keenly aware that I’m standing there with only one bright pink Valentine’s bedroom slipper that says, in bold letters, XXOO with a series of hearts. Just the one shoe. Part of me is tempted to tell this young pest control man the story but the other part of me is totally unconcerned with what he might think. And I’m clothed, aren’t I? He should be happy with that. After he leaves, I catch sight of myself in a mirror – bald with names across the sides of my head and with my one bright pink bedroom shoe on.
I just have to wonder – Why do I always look crazy? Why, why, why?
(Side note: I did not buy those shoes; the GF did, as a gift, our first Valentine’s, before she knew me well apparently. I wear them because I learned that anything she has given me, ever, has indeed great sentimental value, no matter what it is or how insignificant I might think it was, in actuality, it is monumental. When we moved and I tried to ‘leave behind’ the microwave s’mores maker she gave me, she started to cry; “but it was our first Halloween together!”. Okay. Even though I do not eat sweets, do not like to use the microwave for anything, and we never ever buy marshmallows, or graham crackers, or plain chocolate bars. It lives in some part of the kitchen (not sure where) but it most certainly did not get left behind.)