My Shoe-marang

I, being a female, suffer from a very serious dilemma.

I get too attached to my shoes.

I fall in love with them at the store,
and then once they're mine they go everywhere I go
they take part in all my adventures.
They say you can't judge a man until you've walked a mile in their shoes because only shoes know exactly where you've been and what you've been through because your shoes have been there with you.

I have one pair of shoes that over the past few years have gone many places with me.

The Hunger Games premiere

The Festival of Colors

And they've taken me on adventures from Ogden to Iowa.

We've been through a lot these shoes and me.

This last weekend, I was headed home and I had these shoes balanced fairly precariously on top of my embarrassingly large pile of laundry. I carried everything down the stairs and out to my friend's car, and somewhere between my apartment and my parent's house in Ogden one of the shoes was AWOL.

I was very distressed; these shoes were my friends and for one of them to just be gone? It was very sad indeed. 

 I figured that my shoe had fallen out of the car somewhere, and that it could be anywhere from Logan to Ogden, and who could know if I would ever see it again.

I came back to Logan with a lonely shoe and a heavy heart. My neighbors came over and I explained to them my sorrow over my loss. One of them, said jokingly to the other, 

"I bet it's that shoe we saw outside on our way home from church!"

I inquired about this shoe and they informed me that there was a lone shoe that had been residing on the grass outside our apartment building all weekend. I asked what kind of shoe it was, but seeing as they were boys they could offer me no information other than that the shoe was brown. 

Since even that meager description somewhat matched my missing shoe, I started to hope. I asked them if they could go down and get it for me, since they knew where it was. One of them went down, and when he returned

He was holding my lost shoe.

It was a sweet reunion.

My shoe was a little worse for wear, it had fallen out in the parking lot and looked like it might have been run over by a car once or twice, but I thought it had never looked better.

It felt like one of those moments in those awful "Incredible Journey" movies where the ragtag band of animals that have just conquered the great outdoors and defied certain death finally step on top of the hill and they're all backlit by the sun and their family sees them but can't believe their eyes because according to all reason these animals should be dead but they aren't because that would have been a horribly depressing movie.

Imagine that.

But with a shoe.

My shoe conquered the wilderness, and against all odds made it home safely.

It is now dubbed my shoe-marang.

The End