It's All About the Shoes

I read some question on an online survey today. I'm not sure what the questions were for, it was connected to a company I was researching. One of the questions was "How satisfied are you with your life?" Numbers one to five. Then right after "How much would you change about your life if you could?" Hmm... Wow. I am so happy. I am quite satisfied. I feel like I might actually fit into the idyllic clouds outside that look too much like a painting.

My teenage self would cringe at me now. Some of my hair is blue. I live in Nashville (with no aspirations of being a country music star!). I have lived in Iraq. I like wearing fake tattoos. One ear has a second piercing. I'm actually more like a picture of something much less traditional. But I'm ok with that.

But I may have gone a step too far the other day. I was at target and a pair of orange and grey and blue and black striped flats caught my eye. They were cute and I wear a lot of orange. I tried them on as well as I could, taking mini steps, crippled by the three inches of  stretchy elastic and the large tags. Those are my best excuses for what happened next. I bought them. They were comfortable and cute... I thought.

The next day at work I wore them into the office. About half-way through the day I rolled out my chair and stood, stretching out the kinks of too long at a computer. Sitting down I looked at my feet, admiring my the shine of the orange on my new shoes. Turning my foot to the side, I saw them. A whole row of them. Little grey skulls and crossbones grinned back at me, mocking me. I laughed out loud. Then I texted my sister. This sort of hilarity cannot be suffered alone.

Today I wore the shoes again. Ah. Why not?!