It’s hard to write a lighthearted humor blog when you have a heavy heart.
And my heart is heavy because my slippers are missing. My red slippers. That I loved and wore. I loved them so much that when I visited my in-laws in North Carolina, I brought my slippers with me.
Because my slippers need to get away from the city sometimes too.
And I wore my red slippers in North Carolina and all was well. And then the day we were leaving, I packed my red slippers inside my black suitcase and zipped it up. I took my black suitcase to the airport and checked it.
When I reunited with my black suitcase in Newark Airport, it looked different. For one, while I merely zipped it up, it was now zipped and the handles were clasped together. And to make things even more suspicious and unAmerican, my suitcase was in a plastic basket.
For no apparent reason.
But I’m an easy going person so I grabbed my suitcase and was on my way. (I’m editing out the part where I waited for my kids and Husbandrinka to grab their suitcases as well, because it doesn’t move the story along, not because I’m only focused on my own suitcase. Please don’t interrupt me again.)
And then I got home and unpacked. Can you guess what wasn’t in my suitcase? That’s right, my red slippers. And just to clarify there were no slippers of any other color, either.
I am distraught. Because I cannot walk around barefoot like a domesticated animal, I can’t wear shoes inside the house like a pig who wears shoes inside the house and due to a resolution that I made earlier this week, I cannot shop for new slippers.
PERHAPS YOU CAN SEE MY DILEMMA.
But that’s not even the worst of it.
Because I asked Husbandrinka for the contact number for the airline and he asked me if I thought that there was an underground used red slippers smuggling ring. Which makes no sense, because if they work for the airline industry, they’re probably above ground.
“No one needs your slippers,” he dismissed me. Which was really hurtful. I mean, I don’t think that they’re out to get my slippers or anything, but if your slippers are in one place and then they are not in that one place, there are only a few options. And one of the options is that someone took them. (And the other option involved some kind of time-space continuum nonsense that I don’t understand.)
Besides, as I explained to Husbandrinka, I now think that they felt so guilty about taking my slippers that they placed my suitcase in the plastic bin to make it up to me.
“How does that make it up to you?” he asks me. Like I’m supposed to know how the criminal mind works.
So I am officially in distress. Posting may be light as I struggle through this crisis.
One year ago ...
- OMG. "Dance Moms" Is Back! - 2012