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“I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it!
K-a-thy, where’s my other black shoe?”
Under my breath I grumbled, “You need a keeper. How
would I know—they aren’t my shoes!”
I entered the bedroom to find a very puzzled, pouting
expression on my hubby’s face, and a black loafer dangling from each hand.
“They don’t match,” he moaned.
They looked the same to me until he pointed out the
labels. Sure enough, one said Cole Hahn and one said Bass. I suggested he
match up every pair of black loafers in his closet until he found their
mates.
“I’ve already done that!” He was frustrated and darned
close to being snippy. “Besides, my Bass loafers are not this style.”
“Well, sometimes when you kick your shoes off they fly
in under low hanging clothes. Have you looked everywhere? One shoe doesn’t
just vanish all by itself!”
“They aren’t in there,” he assured me firmly. Kind of
reminded me of all items that are not in the fridge, unless they sit
on the front row of the eye-level shelf! Bending over seems to be out of
the question for some reason.
I hit the floor and began crawling under low hanging
garments. I could hardly wait to drag out the two mismatched culprits. It
seemed like overkill, anyway. Why would one man have so many pair of black
loafers, regardless of the brand?
“Charlie! That’s it—Charlie!”
I scooted out of the closet empty handed, my hair now
standing on end! “What’s Charlie got to do with anything? I thought we
were talking about shoes.”
“We are! And he’s got my other shoe—I should have
known he’d screw up something.”
The prior weekend a group of old buddies had gathered
for a few days of golf in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas. Hotels were
jam-packed, and Jerry had been forced to share a suite with Charlie.
He ripped the phone out of its cradle, punched in
Charlie’s number, and the next words out of his mouth were, “Where’s my
shoe?”
Jerry’s eyes lit up for just a moment, and then he
furrowed his brow. “You’re where? And, you have it on? Let me get this
straight—my shoe is in California on your foot?” He listened
briefly to Charlie’s explanation and clicked the off button.
“My shoe will never be the same.” He slammed the phone
down on the bed. “It will be stretched out, scuffed, or something!”
Whoa! It was a long week. Jerry imagined umpteen
disastrous perils that might befall his shoe until it was in his possession
again. The worst of which being—what if Charlie packed as haphazardly as he
did in Arkansas, and didn’t even return home with it?
Well, Charlie arrived back in Dallas late on Friday
night and they met early Sat. morning for the “shoe exchange” and a quick
cup of coffee.
When Jerry arrived home he was clutching his single
black shoe for dear life, but still had a worried look etched across his
face.
“So, how’s the well-traveled shoe?” I snickered.
“Everything about it appears to be fine. No
scuff marks, no gum on the sole, and it doesn’t smell funky or anything.”
Strange—he still wasn’t smiling.
“Hallelujah! All is right in your tiny, little world
once again and we can discuss something besides, ‘The Case of the Vanishing
Shoe’ over dinner tonight.” I might have been a bit sarcastic, but I truly
was happy for him.
“Oh, not so fast! I haven’t tried it on yet. I just
know it’s stretched out or something. There is no way on God’s green earth
that our feet are exactly the same size.”
I glared at him! “Try it on! What are you waiting
for?”
The shoe dropped to the floor; slowly he slid it on,
and he sauntered through the kitchen. After several cautious steps he
actually grinned. “You know what? It’s just fine! I can’t believe it—it
really is fine!”
I let out a long sigh. “As far as I’m concerned I’d
just as soon never lay eyes on the blasted thing again.”
“What?”
“I said…I’d just as soon never see that shoe again.
But, you know what they say—if the pretty, black shoe fits—you must wear
it, wear it,
wear it!” I offered a very
innocent smile and batted my eyelashes.
Moments of dead silence, and even deadlier looks, were
finally broken as he ambled out of the kitchen with a firm grip on his
shoe. He took several steps, began grumbling about something and I didn’t
ask him to repeat himself! I knew I’d been pushing my luck; it was
definitely time to back off…
©Kathleene S. Baker 2006
Lnstrlady@aol.com
www.txyellowrose.com |
