The agony of de-feet (or actually, de-shoes)
We have a pup that likes to eat shoes.
He isn’t discriminating. Most any shoe will do. Sneakers and heels, slippers and boots-he seems to find them equally tasty. But to find a pair of unguarded flip-flops-that is his creme de la creme. He dines on them with great relish (and sometimes, great mustard). It seems no matter how well we hide them or how high we hang our cheap summer shoes, our wee pooch can sniff them out whenever he’s in the mood for a snack.
Recently, the flip-flop pickings were especially easy for him. I was packing my suitcase, distracted and hurried, trying to leave town for the weekend. Finally ready to go out the door, I went to step into my shoes and found the entire right big toe section of pair #144 was gone.
Not wanting to delay my departure to search for less digested footwear, I put on the shoes anyway, thinking I’d simply stop at a Kmart or another cheap shoe place along the way.
Several times over the course of that weekend, I went searching for shoes. In this, the blessed Season of Clearance, I expected to find a great bargain. For a skinflint like me, full-price would never do. Yet the flip-flops pickings were slim. Only strange colors and odd sizes remained. (I briefly confused one oversized, bright yellow pair for some sort of flotation device. And sadly, the pair nearly fit.)
It wasn’t until, as I was heading back home on Sunday, that I stopped at a Target and found a pair of Clearance Keds that fit both my size and price range. In a hurry, I snatched up the simple, cute shoes-white canvas flip-flops with a fairly thick, padded sole-without trying them on. Since the shoes were attached to each other with a thin, plastic strap, I tossed the shoes, still in their box, next to me in the car.
I was in a hurry to get back to Poca in time to make a 2 p.m. meeting, and I was cutting it close. There was no time to stop at home first. I pulled into the parking lot with just one minute to spare. Not wanting to go into the meeting wearing dog-nibbled footwear, I used my keys to cut through the plastic strap that bound my new shoes, then quickly put them on my feet and made a dash for the door.
Something felt strange. It sounded strange, too. But there was no time for such matters. There was a serious meeting to attend.
Except I quickly learned it’s hard to be taken seriously when one of your shoes sounds like a baby rattle and the other like a dog’s squeaky toy.
With each step, my left foot gave off a loud, “SHUSH!”, which it followed with a sound that was something like rocks in a hubcap. Then my right foot went “Skwee-KEEEY.” Imagine, if you will, a mouse with a microphone that’s being squeezed and goosed at the same time.
Heads turned. People chuckled. With as much dignity as I could muster, I pretended the sound effects weren’t coming from me.
There was a time during the meeting when I would have liked to have stood, but seated, I stayed. And there was a time when all those cups of coffee I’d consumed during the drive made themselves known in a most uncomfortable fashion, but knowing my shoes would cause too much disruption, I forced my molars to swim. Once the meeting had ended, I wanted to leave, but too many neighbors were still milling about, so I waited at my table until nearly all were gone. When the largest quantity of witnesses had dispersed, I headed out to my car.
Shush-rattle–skwee-keeey!
Now fully aware why the shoes were only four bucks.
FOOTNOTE: Once home, I took off the shoes and gave them to our pup. He looked confused, even backed away a few steps, apparently believing it was some sort of trick. Try as I might, I could not convince him the shoes were a gift. Finally, I put them back on and started to walk. The sound caused our pup to tilt his head way left, then way right. And then pounce.
Then those shoes got what was coming to them.
