I read in the paper this weekend that the average woman has 27 pair of shoes.
I have always considered myself above average.
Way above average in this case.
Like the ark of old, my closet filled fully and efficiently with two-by-two pairings of slingbacks, pumps, boots, sandals, loafers, spikes, sneakers, deck shoes and more -- representing a rainbow of coordination possibility.
Yes, things were good in the B.P. era.
Before Puppy shoes were where shoes are supposed to be, happily paired and awaiting their next service opportunity.
We thought it was funny the first time the puppy carried off a hiking boot twice her size and weight from the front hallway- a photo opp of imbalanced and unlikely determination.
After 4,987 times the trick wears thin.
Single shoes, recovered on the fly from the clutches of Jaws Jr., litter the elevated flat surfaces in our loft. Rescue one and another magically appears.
The rescue reaction is instant and unthinking, and thus can not be called upon when trying to recall just where that shoe went. So many shoes, so little time.
The singles are frequently scooped up and dumped in the closet in a growing mismatched mangle. That was the place I found the first brown flat this morning. With both brown heels MIA, the rest of the outfit already on
and the clock ticking perilously past "late for work" there was no choice but find the absent flat.
We have less than 2,000 square feet of which more than half is one large open room. There are only two humans who live there. It should have been easy.
The cats perched serenely in "I told you nothing good would come out of bringing that beast into our home" attitude I as looked under the bed, sifted through the laundry room piles, ran my hands under the couch and searched the closet completely at least four times.
The pup sat confidently on Charlie's feet at the kitchen table as Charlie read the morning paper. Clearly she knew where the shoe was, but she wasn't saying.
After 10 minutes of frenzy I was convinced the shoe had been secreted out in the trash or had jumped from our unopen windows. I pulled through the closet hangers frantically searching a change of clothing to match the available shoe pairings.
A clunk at my feet produced the prodigal flat, apparently wedged between clothing on one of the "retrieve the shoes and throw them back in the closet" sweeps.
The pup stayed smuggly in place as I ran to the door, forgetting my tea on the table. But I could have sworn I saw her glance at the family Egg Hunt invitation tacked to the refrigerator.
I think she'd like to hide the eggs.


Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs