A Three-Legged Sioux

Yes, you got that right. Along with things gone droopy and things getting wrinkly and things rapidly going gray, I've grown a third leg... or so it seems.

It appears I'm waiting for one particular thing to happen to one shoe.

photo by Pixabay

Oh, don't let this photo fool you. I haven't cast away my ugly-but-comfortable shoes and developed a love of high heels. In fact, I was at an out-of-town teacher conference this weekend and after packing what I thought were all my things, I noticed my navy blue Crocs partially hidden under the bed.

A catastrophe narrowly missed! Those trusty shoes have been hosed off so many times and yet still they're reliable. Attractive, no. Comfy, yes.

(My daughter and her family would have been over-the-moon if those BUS (butt-ugly shoes) had been left behind. Too bad for them, great for me.)

What is your favorite pair of shoes, and why?

And Sioux with three legs? You can read my post on The Muffin if you'd like to know why I apparently grew a third leg.

Help! Please!

         Recently I killed my black Crocs. Cause of death: scissors. I cut them up in a fancy shoe store, with my daughter, granddaughter and my friend--all shoe lovers--as witnesses. They cheered and high-fived each other. I sobbed (silently, to myself).

       But I still have my tan pair. They are--as a blogging friend smirked, "well loved." They are still croc-ing along.

        However, I think the tan Crocs are aware of the violent act I committed against their darker friends. Perhaps they were shaking and quaking in their rubberness, afraid I might do the same thing to them? Maybe they let themselves get lured away from the safe confines of my home?

       I thought my tan Crocs were secure in my bedroom, until I saw this picture. Lisa Ricard Claro, a writing friend, alerted me to this horrible situation.

       A crocodile got my Croc-ie.   (Imagine I am Meryl Streep, distraught, in the wilds of Australia, as I say this.)

            To see this horrible, gruesome sight, go here. But beware--you might get ill over what you are about to see.

OoooohNoooo

          Now, if you survived seeing that, what is the funniest animal story you have to tell? I need to laugh, to recover from that scare.



    

A Funeral...Will It Be Suicide or Homicide?

       

         Tomorrow I am going to a funeral. The death has not happened yet, and it remains to be seen whether it will be ruled as death by their own hands or by my hands.

       Will they leap onto the blades of the scissors on their own, in an effort to end their misery? Or will they rail against their imminent demise, the instinct to live overruling what they know is the truth...that they are pathetic and not even fit for yard work anymore.  

       The friends I will be memorializing are loyal. They're always there, waiting to be of service. They've survived being chewed on by my dog, they no longer feel springy, and they're currently sporting dribbles of Mod Podge...and yet they still are proud when I reach out for them.

        The service will be held at Bronx Diba, a shoe store in the St. Louis area. Any sympathy cards and casseroles will be gratefully accepted as I try to cope during this period of mourning.

        (Sob.)

        (Sniff.)