The Wrong Shoes

My epitaph will probably read:

"She was wearing the wrong shoes."

It's the story of my life.  Wore sneakers to soccer practice because I didn't know I was supposed to buy cleats.  I've worn spike heels to the mall because they matched my outfit.  I once had to pull a twelve-hour shift at a hotel in really girly-looking heels because my regular work shoes fell apart while I was getting dressed, and I didn't have any male shoes that could substitute.

There's a branch of the local public library about two miles from where I'm living.  It's a decent walk when the weather's nice.  I was going to go this morning, but I got busy puttering around the house, and by the afternoon, it had gotten too warm.  I wouldn't have pushed for it, but I ran out of anything to read, and I get antsy when I don't have a book near to hand.

After dinner, my sister and her husband announced they were going to WalMart, and I asked if they'd drop me off at the library on the way.  They did, and said I could text them when I was ready to go home.  It only occurred to me when they left that I was wearing flip-flops.  I'd meant to change before we took off, but it slipped my mind. 

I have owned sandals that are meant to be walked in.  These are not that kind.  They're Airwalk, a brand I bought at Payless.  They've got simple hard rubber soles (patterned like Converse sneakers) with denim-like cloth thongs.  I could have waited for them to finish at the store.  It might've meant sitting outside the library for twenty minutes after closing, but I felt like walking.  Curse my feelings. 

I was halfway home when I decided I'd had enough, so I sent a text asking if I should wait where I was or press on for home.  They advised me it would be another twenty minutes or so, so I kept on walking.  They caught up to me just as I turned onto our street.

I think I walked these poor shoes into their grave.  It's time to buy new shoes.  Maybe I'll get some after my tax refund comes.