Whose Shoes Are These?

Yesterday I stood in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear when I noticed my dark grey flip flops were looking mighty black. The room was dark so I bent down to take a closer look. Black as can be and not my flip flops. These were Havaianas, a little pricier than my $5 Old Navy specials. WTF? How long had I been wearing them? I glanced around the room. What was I was expecting, the Flip Flop Fairy?

Just for a moment I panicked, like that time I realized my purse was no longer hanging from my shoulder (I found it twenty yards back down the sidewalk). I thought back to where I’d been the past couple of days. Past week.

Roxane’s. That had to be it.  Hadn’t we deposited our shoes at the entrance to her house? But that was a week ago. I emailed her, “Are you missing a pair of black Havaianas?” “Nope, not mine.”

It took me an entire two days to finally remember that my Wednesday yoga class had taken place somewhere different, where we had to deposit our shoes at the entrance. I will only know next Wednesday whether this is indeed where I will find the owner of the Havaianas.

Please let it be so.

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