The mystery of the missing shoe.
I have written before on my poor sad missing shoe.
Before I continue, let me again rhapsodise on the perfection of this shoe. I never dared dream that such a shoe existed. THE Perfect Strappy Black Sandal. The heel measured at 3.5 inches - the perfect height - gracefully slender yet substantial enough to be supportive. Three thin leather straps crossed the front of the foot, so that my pretty pedicures could be exposed. Another thin leather strap wrapped just below the ankle, providing further support yet not visually cutting my leg off and making said leg look stocky and short (as is a problem with many ankle straps on shoes). And did I mention that they were comfortable? To top it all off, I got them on super-sale at the mothership. (I'd take a picture so that you could understand, but I'm waiting for my new digital camera to show up in the mail, sigh.)
Sweet perfection.
And then I lost one, in the hazy blur of alcohol and booty calls. While I called nearly everyone I could think of, nobody had it. Nobody. Yet there was still the faint glimmer of hope that someone, somewhere, had it, and that my poor shoe would somehow magically make its way back to me.
However, that is sadly not to be.
Charlie had the brilliant idea that perhaps it fell out of my bag when his friends drove me home. So he called the driver. Yes, the shoe had been in his car. But instead of holding onto it and somehow getting in touch with me, as I was the only stranger in his car that night, he threw it away.
That's right. He threw it away.
What an ignominious ending.
Apparently he was worried that if his girlfriend found it, she would think he was cheating on her. But she was also one of the people in the car that night, so I'm sure a simple explanation would have sufficed. I don't know what kind of relationship they have if she's that distrustful, but hey, I'm not one to judge.
And so, that is the sad and tragic ending to the mystery of the missing shoe. I had hoped that at the very least, the story could've been more exciting, but really, I don't need anymore excitement in my life.
A proper funeral will be held for the missing shoe's mate.
And so re-begins the hunt for the perfect black strappy sandal. Rather like trying to find a decent guy. A pain in the ass, and something always eventually goes wrong, no matter how near perfection you may be.
Before I continue, let me again rhapsodise on the perfection of this shoe. I never dared dream that such a shoe existed. THE Perfect Strappy Black Sandal. The heel measured at 3.5 inches - the perfect height - gracefully slender yet substantial enough to be supportive. Three thin leather straps crossed the front of the foot, so that my pretty pedicures could be exposed. Another thin leather strap wrapped just below the ankle, providing further support yet not visually cutting my leg off and making said leg look stocky and short (as is a problem with many ankle straps on shoes). And did I mention that they were comfortable? To top it all off, I got them on super-sale at the mothership. (I'd take a picture so that you could understand, but I'm waiting for my new digital camera to show up in the mail, sigh.)
Sweet perfection.
And then I lost one, in the hazy blur of alcohol and booty calls. While I called nearly everyone I could think of, nobody had it. Nobody. Yet there was still the faint glimmer of hope that someone, somewhere, had it, and that my poor shoe would somehow magically make its way back to me.
However, that is sadly not to be.
Charlie had the brilliant idea that perhaps it fell out of my bag when his friends drove me home. So he called the driver. Yes, the shoe had been in his car. But instead of holding onto it and somehow getting in touch with me, as I was the only stranger in his car that night, he threw it away.
That's right. He threw it away.
What an ignominious ending.
Apparently he was worried that if his girlfriend found it, she would think he was cheating on her. But she was also one of the people in the car that night, so I'm sure a simple explanation would have sufficed. I don't know what kind of relationship they have if she's that distrustful, but hey, I'm not one to judge.
And so, that is the sad and tragic ending to the mystery of the missing shoe. I had hoped that at the very least, the story could've been more exciting, but really, I don't need anymore excitement in my life.
A proper funeral will be held for the missing shoe's mate.
And so re-begins the hunt for the perfect black strappy sandal. Rather like trying to find a decent guy. A pain in the ass, and something always eventually goes wrong, no matter how near perfection you may be.
posted at 08:04
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