For five hours Saturday, I walked around Dallas wearing two different shoes.
Not Harold and Gale—our neighbors who invited us for breakfast and served incredible BaconSausageOnionCheese omelets. Harold who ALWAYS makes fun of my laceless, pitiful Converse shoes… Rightfully so.
Not John—my husband who walked with me to Harold and Gale’s house for breakfast, then spent the entire day with me stringing Christmas lights.
Not the CVS Pharmacist who gave me a flu shot, half of which trickled down my arm into my mis-matched shoe.
Later that same night at the Munger Place Christmas party, I was certain to wear matching shoes (black patent flats, not ratty Converse). But, chit-chatting with my girlfriends I noticed a bit of an itch at my throat, a slight irritant. A clothing tag? I was wearing my sweater backwards! Luckily, no one noticed that either.