If you can't laugh at yourself...

So, I had a coffee date with Suzanne this week. We had planned to meet on Thursday evening. Most weeks, I am yawning by 8pm on Thursdays. This particular Thursday, I had had a cavity filled only a few hours prior to our meeting. So, when I was getting ready to head out to Starbucks, I was already red-eyed with exhaustion and my mouth was numb on the right side. I was concentrating on whether or not I was drooling without realizing it. I'm not saying that these conditions are to blame for what happened next, I'm just setting the stage.

So I throw on a fleece and I go to the door where there is a long metal tray filled with shoes for when people walk in the door. I tend to be the member of the household who changes shoes most often, so I have many shoes in this tray. I slip on my shoes, and out the door I go to coffee.

I get there about 5 minutes early and find a table to sit and wait for Suzanne. I'm sitting in typical girl fashion: crossed legs, top foot swinging. I look down at my swinging left foot:



Upon seeing it, this is my thought: "Hmmm, that's funny... I thought I put on the grey (gray?) shoes when I left." I was even a little disappointed because the grey shoes matched what I was wearing better than the black shoe I was seeing. I almost moved on to think about something else, when I suddenly had an instant replay flash through my mind of my right foot stepping into a grey shoe just before leaving the house. Now my thought is this: "No........ Surely not...."
And despite the part of me that screams out not to look, that ignorance is bliss, I force myself to look down at my right foot. This is what I see:



I cannot begin to explain the horror, and perhaps if you had been there you might have seen the physical manifestation of my inner panic. I swear, at that moment, a neon blinking arrow popped up next to my table, pointing directly at my feet. I pulled the 'ol look-around-to-see-who-sees and to my relief, the world at that moment did not seem to care much about my shoe debacle. As it turns out, people go to Starbucks to meet with other people and drink coffee, not to shoegaze and journal about fashion accidents.

I briefly tucked one foot under my rear in an effort to hide my error, but then I just felt like a phony. I decided to suck it up and hope that the other patrons assumed it was crazy shoe day at my work.

And when I got home, I laughed till I cried.