I looked at them one last time. I sighed a sigh of letting go, turned my head, and dropped them into the garbage bag.
I remember them in their glory. The way my feet felt when I first put them on. The pink suede was oh-so-pretty and delicate. The strap criss-crossed over top of the foot and Velcroed neatly on the side. The shoes looked like little ballerina slippers.
I would love them so much in the months to come. Hardly a day went by when I wouldn’t wear them. I would wear them with skirts, pants, capris, or jeans. I would wear them to walk downtown, to work, to go on adventures or even just around the house.
As I returned them safely to a shoe shelf, I noticed a dark spot on the heel. I flipped them over, and to my surprise/horror, there was a spot in the sole that had worn out. Most of the sole was worn thin, but in one spot, it was definitely worn. Pink suede peaked through the beige rubber sole. I put them on the shoe shelf and sighed a sigh of defeat.
The shoes had aged. The suede was no longer smooth. The colour was faded and grayed. The soles were bare.
I tried to think up any way possible not to have to lay the shoes to rest.
I thought about taking them to shoe repair. It could be an attempt at resuscitation – they could dye the suede and resole the bottom. It would give them one last chance to fight. One more adventure. One more day.
Could I do it? Could I squeeze one more ounce of life out of them? If I gave them a second chance, would they have the courage to face another day? Or should I let them die an honorable death?I took one more look at them and realized: These shoes are so done they need a Do Not Resuscitate Order on them.
So I laid them to rest. I placed them gently in the black garbage bag and set them free. I remembered the good and the fun times we shared together. And now they’ve moved on. And of course, all shoes go to heaven.
I remember them in their glory. The way my feet felt when I first put them on. The pink suede was oh-so-pretty and delicate. The strap criss-crossed over top of the foot and Velcroed neatly on the side. The shoes looked like little ballerina slippers.
I would love them so much in the months to come. Hardly a day went by when I wouldn’t wear them. I would wear them with skirts, pants, capris, or jeans. I would wear them to walk downtown, to work, to go on adventures or even just around the house.
As I returned them safely to a shoe shelf, I noticed a dark spot on the heel. I flipped them over, and to my surprise/horror, there was a spot in the sole that had worn out. Most of the sole was worn thin, but in one spot, it was definitely worn. Pink suede peaked through the beige rubber sole. I put them on the shoe shelf and sighed a sigh of defeat.
The shoes had aged. The suede was no longer smooth. The colour was faded and grayed. The soles were bare.
I tried to think up any way possible not to have to lay the shoes to rest.
I thought about taking them to shoe repair. It could be an attempt at resuscitation – they could dye the suede and resole the bottom. It would give them one last chance to fight. One more adventure. One more day.
Could I do it? Could I squeeze one more ounce of life out of them? If I gave them a second chance, would they have the courage to face another day? Or should I let them die an honorable death?I took one more look at them and realized: These shoes are so done they need a Do Not Resuscitate Order on them.
So I laid them to rest. I placed them gently in the black garbage bag and set them free. I remembered the good and the fun times we shared together. And now they’ve moved on. And of course, all shoes go to heaven.
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