I certainly hope that the person who wears you puts you away at night. It always seems to be that those of us who are worn most are the ones left by the front door in a puddle of slush after having been worn.
It's not fair to be so mistreated. As I look around me I see that there are other shoes that are laying out here but it's not a nice feeling. Laying piled on top of other shoes who smell far less clean than I do, who are coated in a thin film of dust while I'm wet and as tired as the feet that just thrust me off of them.
I am the most loved Nike. That simple pair of shoes that goes well with Jeans, Khakis, shorts and jogging pants, though thankfully she does not wear me with skirts. (I personally find that in bad taste even in bad weather.) I know, though we don't like to tell people that I am not actually her shoes. She did not buy me, and it makes me feel more cast off knowing that my actual owner doesn't actually wear me anymore. He complains that I squeak when he walks, but it's not all my fault, he's got big feet, and big feet mean more leather and parts. I don't squeak on carpet, but some concrete isn't a good mix.
My big problem comes in the summer. She hates to wear sox and shoes, so the second weather permits those pretty espadrilles that are waiting impatiently and haughtily to tell the rest of us that we will all be out of commission soon, start mouthing off. I wish I could tell her that those polka dots suck, and some day she's gonna break and get tossed in the garbage without a second thought. Does that make me a bad shoe? It's like waiting for my owner to break an ankle to wish breakage on another shoe, but those espadrilles are just not a nice pair.
For a while I was nicely lined up after a quick cleaning spree. I sat next to my mate and talked to the blue suede Adidas. They've been around for almost 9 years and she never wears them. They tell me constantly "We were an impulse buy?" Their laces are nice and not crumpled, barely twisted from having been tied many, many times. Their soles are still nice and white, and the 3 stripes on their sides are still clean. "Her friend bought our cousins, and they looked cute on her. Size 7's always do. Honor being picked but, I'd rather be sitting in Downtown Ann Arbor looking out the window than under the table covered in Lava lamps feeling the draft from the door." I feel sorry for a second but then the boots by the radiator pipe up. "I'd love a draft! I sit by the inferno all day!" - It's always a shifty conversation, but it reminds me daily that I get worn. I see the sights, I make friends with the dust bunnies under her desk at work, and make her kick piles of files on the floor in the office. I meet feet resting on the rails of her favorite bars. At least I don't spend all day wondering when I might get taken out for a spin, even if the weather is bad and I know that she's wearing me for protection. I get to have vindictive moments when she wears the sox I hate and I pull on them to make them sink further down into me and off of her heal... teach her to wear those crappy bastards again.
Ahh, but alas I sit now by the back door, coupled together near the fleece scuffs she so frequently adorns and wonder if tomorrow will bring weather that will make her look around to see which pair she might put on. Tomorrow could be my day again.
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