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Do you have any plans for the summer?" I asked Jamie as he finished examining the foundation at one of our upcoming listings. "Gonna do a little hiking?" I added wryly. (Jamie doesn't do a "little" hiking; this guy tackles mountains.)
"Yes," he enthusiastically responded. "In fact, I'm off on a 9-day solo backpacking trip next week." "You're going alone?" I asked. "Is that safe?" "I'll have a GPS locator,' he said, "but my friends no longer join me. They know I like a good hard challenge." (Sounds grueling.)
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Alas, today I put a fairly new pair of shoes into the donation bag. I've only worn them once, but every time I try them on, I'm reminded of how painful they actually are. Having had zero luck at "breaking them in," OR making them more comfortable, OR turning my feet into triangles (what's with pointed toes anyway?) I'm raising the white flag. The shoes have got to go, along with anything else in my closet that's too small, too large, too old, too itchy, too threadbare, or simply, never worn.
There was a time, in the not too distant pass, when I would have suffered for a "memorable" moment. In fact, in my 20s, I waited tables, and danced the night away in heels much higher than these. (What compels us?) However, that time is long gone . . . now it's all about the "fit." The reality is that I prefer comfort over style — in shoes, in dress, and in my home. (Yes, I'm officially old.) While I haven't given in to Birkenstocks, I'm definitely rockin' the penny loafers. Cliff and I have an inside joke (albeit, not a very funny one). Whenever we drive up HWY 50 to Fallen Leaf Lake, as we pass the BIG green "Sushi" billboard near the summit, Cliff points and says, "Should we stop for lunch?" (He thinks he's hilarious. At this point, I just roll my eyes.)
I should preface this by saying that Cliff doesn't eat sushi, so not only is the invitation entirely disingenuous, but given that the restaurant is nowhere near a fresh fish source, he knows the answer is going to be "no." (AKA: "the empty magnanimous gesture.") In 36 years of marriage, Cliff has joined me at a sushi restaurant only a handful of times, and he almost always orders the chicken teriyaki. (If you imagine the palette of an 8-year-old boy, you've pegged Cliff.) I flunked a test last week.
Granted, it was with the oral hygienist, and admittedly, I hadn’t been to a dentist office in nearly three years, so I was WAY overdue for a cleaning. My previous dentist suddenly sold her practice, and somehow, I’d slipped through the cracks between "new management" and COVID. As FEAR and dental work are irrefutably entwined in my delicate psyche, I’d conveniently let this triannual chore go by the wayside, hoping that flossing regularly, thorough brushing, and practicing good oral hygiene would be enough. It wasn’t. |
AuthorJulie Gardner, has been writing The Perspective for 19 years and has published more than 850 humorous but always informative, essays on life and real estate.
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