Tuesday, June 18, 2013

I'm Convinced the Devil Wears Wingtips

Every day I sit in my office, listening for the tell tale click of a falling dress shoe. My body tenses at the tolling peal of hardened leather on a linoleum floor. I bet today they are bone colored. Better yet, oxblood. 

When I hear that tonal harbinger, I wonder if I am next. As the clatter gets closer, I half expect the Vice Principal to appear at my office door, and scold a 12 year old me for throwing berries in the schoolyard. 

The racket draws nearer. Now a doctor appears, bearing what is certainly bad news. The diagnosis? Grim. 

The din continues, then softens, and mercifully halts. Reaping has come, but two doors down. I hear a muffled, one-sided exchange. Next comes a brief, mournful silence soon broken by the deafening echo of hard soled shoes. 

Now I know why Jesus wore sandals.


BrerSkwerl said...

High heels...

Mrs. B said...

Wow. A good piece of writing there, bro.

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