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Slippers

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My slippers look like garbage. If someone were to find these in their yard, in their garage, or in their home they would pick one up gingerly with two fingers. Their face would be scrunched up in disgust, eyes pinched and nose wrinkled. They would examine this slipper in the same manner in which they would inspect a dead bird discovered in the shallow grass of a suburban alley. There is equal parts revulsion and curiosity. In the end, revulsion wins the day and the bird is dropped back into the grass. Hands are wiped on pants. The walk continues.

These slippers look like garbage when lying empty on the floor. These knitted, craft fair specials were once rich with contrasting colors. Black yarn amid light tan with the occasional brown. In parts, there is pattern, but in other areas the pattern is forgotten or perhaps mishandled. The effect reinforces that these slippers were made by hand. But now more than two years later the tans are not so tan– certainly not so brightly, freshly tan. There is a look of dirtiness about these foot warmers. This is justified since these have never been in the wash. Too likely to fall part.

Skin touches the floor even when in these slippers. A big hole worn through the left; a slightly smaller one in the right. Horribly stretched, these slide on the feet, twisting at the ankle when walking. Thus when worn these have a sloppy, unsightly appearance.

But oh so comfy. So comforting when more than the feet need comfort.

So these slippers shall endure.

slippers

[My warm-up for the week is writing about things I can see from where I write. A warm-up is 15 minutes of writing. No self-editing is the goal. Just 15 minutes hammering on the keys. After 15 minutes, I am allowed to clean up spelling and grammar errors, but the rest must stay as is. Similar to my previous (abandoned) ritual called ā€œ20 Minutes.ā€]

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