Perhaps a previous tenet got the shoe as a gag gift? Maybe his friends called him "bigfoot" because he had abnormally big feet, or he was so small and tiny the joke was that he would fit into a giant shoe.
Days went by, the shoe revealed no answers, and we left it sitting on the floor for the cats to sleep on and went about our lives. As the shoe continued to do nothing, I began thinking about our "surprise shoe" and looking for the "perfect fit." Is it a coincidence we found such a comical version of footwear hidden beneath the dust bunnies and plywood shelves of our closet while our government officials search for a health care reform bill that will fit the beat-up, gangrenous "feet" that is the state of our nation's health? Could its garish colors and outdated Reebok logo suggest that KM and I review our past fashion choices with a more discerning eye? Probably not, but I DID begin to wonder whether the shoe is something meant for US, a sign that we should forget our squabbling over finances and travel plans and whose hair clogs up the shower drain or who dances with footloose-style enthusiasm to avoid helping the other person cook dinner, and think more about the "foot" that we're all idealizing, the "size" that will be "perfect" for our collective closet shoe. Maybe the giant orange shoe we found in our closet will never be matched with a foot as large and warm as that of its original owner. And maybe that's okay. Like our unexpected suprise, we can all learn to enjoy the "shoes" life puts in our "closets" this holiday season.
-KE
I think this is laugh out loud hilarious! And I'm not just saying this because I am your mom.
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