The following account is so absurd I debated whether to share it. Then I carefully considered my audience and their love of laughing not at me (to my face), but with me. It’s too odd to make up, so here goes.
With this account, I cry out along with Joan Hackett as Prudy Perkins after her dress catches fire in “Support Your Local Sheriff”: “Why do these stupid things keep happening to me?”
When I woke that day with Johnny Cash singing “A Boy Named Sue” looping through my head, I should have been on guard about what the day held. What made it worse was that the line “... kickin’ and a-gougin’ in the mud and the blood and the beer” was the predominant refrain.
Anyway, I pushed that visual aside and got myself ready to have lunch with my friend, John, at Elmer’s. I felt festive. I donned my gay red beanie, red gloves and colorful enameled Christmas ball earrings for a finishing touch.
After eating my Cobb salad, I rose to use the “powder room” before leaving. I noticed right off that something wasn’t right. Some sharp thing was poking into my foot. Now, my boots are advanced in years, and I wear them a lot, so I figured a tack had broken through the bottom layer.
In the restroom, I removed the boot and felt inside. Sure enough a sharp, pokey thing was making life miserable when walking. I took one of Lane’s art business cards and placed it down near the toe of the boot in hope it would cover the nail or whatever it was until I could have it fixed. This did not work.
I limped out to the car and drove to my next destination: Fred Meyer, where I’d planned to buy Christmas lights. I limped across the parking lot and across the store, bee-lining for the shoe department to find a cheap pair of shoes to get me through the day.
I tried on a decent-looking pair of chea — er, I mean, inexpensive boots, but they were too small. About then, AJ, a helpful shoe department employee, kindly asked if he could be of assistance.
While he scanned the shelves for the correct size, I just had to tell him the story of why I was I was there in the first place. It’s what I do. I share small details of my life with complete strangers who are simply trying to do their jobs and go home to their recliners and Coors.
“There’s something poking my foot,” I explained, “and I thought I could find a pair of chea — inexpensive shoes to get me by.”
Without missing a beat, he replied, “Let’s see the bottom of your shoe.”
I dutifully lifted it up, and there, looking festive and solidly pinned to the bottom of my sole, was my Christmas ball earring. I pulled it out and started laughing.
I could hardly believe that such a silly thing could happen to anyone, even me. I mean, how in the wide world of accessories could an earring end up on my shoe, right?
Ha. Ha.
With the straightest face you ever saw, he just said, “Does your foot feel better?” I felt like slapping him.
I was too relieved, though, so I just walked off without a limp, feeling dumb for walking all around with my earring stuck in my shoe — and chuckling throughout the store so that folks probably assumed I’d been chugging spiked eggnog.
I felt jolly after the weirdness and stark lack of shared frivolity wore off. I saved money, and the earring post wasn’t even bent. After scuffing across two parking lots and the better part of Fred Meyer, I can still wear them, as the mate hung tough through the folly.
Ho, ho, ho.
May your earrings and other side notes of life remain where they belong this season, and may you find others who share in the silliest of days.
Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author with loose earrings. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.
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December 04, 2022 at 03:15PM
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