The Purging, It Has Begun

I've been in Phoenix for 4 months now. Enough horseplay. Stuff has got to go, and lots of it.

Scott will be so happy to read this that he will yelp like a Labrador puppy with a new rubber squeak-toy. Because Candy came to town and turned his nice house into a warehouse. He would like to be able to see the fireplace again.

These shoes? I've had them a few years. Always liked them. Black platforms. They go with everything. After forgetting that they existed for awhile, I got them out and wore them yesterday.

During the day I realized 2 things:

1. These shoes are no longer comfortable. In fact, after several hours of wearing them, there was no need to guess what it felt like to have my feet bound. I was limping around like a a backed-over possum. These shoes, they is the enemy.

2. They make my feet look like the feet of Minnie Mouse.

When I got home from work, I didn't even go in the house to take them off. I unbuckled the straps and sat both shoes proudly on the roof of my car.

Scott came home. "Why do you have a pair of shoes on top of your car?"

"Because I'm going to throw them away. And you are my witness."

They sat atop the car overnight. I wanted to display to the world that I had shunned them. They were dead to me. They were still there on the car this morning, but they were still dead to me. Go away. You can't live here anymore.

I didn't bother donating them. Because why would I? Why would I pass on a pair of shoes that would turn someone into a limping Disney character? That would be mean.

I considered leaving them on the car and pulling out of the driveway, and letting them land where they would. Letting them find their destiny. But probably they'd have thudded onto my windshield, startling me into a nice big wreck or a bladder explosion. I threw them next to the dumpster on the carport.

Trash day cometh.