I buy new sandals on line. I love the orange leather straps.
The first day I put them on and walk, I notice that they are squeaky. I think, Give them a few hours. Maybe they just need to be worked in.
Swimming lessons then the library.
It is at the library where I become horribly self conscious. My shoes are so squeaky, every step I take feels like a car horn going off. I move slowly, deliberately, cringing.
At home, I search on line for a cure. I rub lotion generously over the straps.
It does the job.
Spring cleaning when it was warm led to all boots cleaned and put away, sandals and flipflops brought out and put on the shelf.
I was crazy to think it was anywhere close to flipflop time. Yet spring creeps back in. I have these great pair of blue-green Native runners- can’t wait to wear them.
Some girls were playing with a styrofoam ball during lunch. It went over the fence.
We spied a woman near her car. She came over and asked, Did we lose something?
We showed her the ball in amidst the wet snow, next to a pile of wet dirt. She looked and shook her head.
“I couldn’t, not in these shoes.”
We all, the kids, me and the woman looked down at her shiny high heels. I told her, Don’t worry. She got in her car and left. The ball sat, abandoned.
The bell rang to end lunch and the girls walked back to their portable, disappointed. I walked around and retrieved the ball and brought it to their class.
I love shoes. But I decided, shoes would never tell me where I can and cannot go.