Dear readers,
I have decided that the content of this blog has been very weighty and dark as of late. I am going to change direction a bit and focus on my more humourous side. I hope you enjoy. Note: some light and possibly offensive language.
One shoe, no body
 |
| A lone black sneaker in a dimly lit parking garage Photo courtesy of my sister |
Have you ever been driving down the highway and seen a shoe? Usually a sneaker. Of COURSE you have!
It always weirds the crap out of me.
WHY JUST ONE SHOE?!
Then CSI kicks in.
Where is that other shoe?
Was it left behind as a clue?
Maybe by the MAFIA?
The message seems to imply this:
“We have your loved one. Bring the shoe to us or we will kill him!”
Because it’s always a man’s shoe.
You can see that while you are at a red light that takes five minutes to turn green.
It’s a size 13 triple E shoe. It usually is worn out and dirty.
“We have your husband who just ran the 5K. Bring us 1, 000, 000 and the other shoe as either we are too poor or lazy to buy our own shoes. Do this or hubby gets the other size 13 triple E to the head.
You want to know what scares the shit out of me? When this happens in nature.
I love nature. It calms me and provides great pictures, including the knife and single shoe I just discovered while walking on the compacted dirt path.
I photograph the lone shoe. Forget the knife. The worn out men’s size 13 triple E Nike has captured my attention.
I may have to email this to the local news station in time for the nine o’clock news.
This time there are footprints.
You know the sign in forest preserves that list the rules of the place?
“Take only pictures, leave only footprints (the shoe mafia did this already) AND, we close the gates at dusk.”
No effing way am I waiting for dusk! Let’s get the hell out of this place!
______________________________________________________________________________
I’m here all week, folks. Here all week.
______________________________________________________________________________
A list of everyday objects that fascinate me
- Belly button lint. For you innies you know what I’m talking about. I always wait at least six to twelve months to clean my belly button. Gross, I know. It feels like gravel and there are at least 3 different colors all congealed into little particles of yuck.
- Those tabs on soda cans. You can make jewelry out of that.
- Paper clips. For the same reason as #2.
- Patterns in the plush carpet.
- Caps on the end of shoelaces. Great to chew on. They may very well belong to the single shoe left on Highway 72.
- Plastic bottles. Blow across the hole and you have a musical instrument that only plays one note.
- Sporks. Who invented sporks? I can’t eat soup with one, but I can eat the spanish rice I just got from Taco Bell. It’s really a fork with a rounded top. Let’s use descriptive language people! I don’t need a metaphor at TACO BELL!
- Pennies in the sidewalk cracks. Hard to find now, because everyone carries plastic. To those of you carrying plastic rectangular cards with way too high a balance: STOP TAKING THE FUN OUT OF MY LIFE!
- Exposed brick. A great skin exfoliator.
- Twigs. Preferably the long, bendy kind that acts as a tool of self-defense should I encounter the shoe mafia in the forest preserve.
I’m here all week, folks. If I stink too bad, please have mercy on my immortal soul. Leave both my shoes on. Take only pictures, leave only footprints, preferably not on my ass.
_________________________________________________________________________________