We spent last week at my in-laws’ lake shack. The conditions of my participation in lake shacking include: 1) a functioning indoor toilet 2) running water.
Spiders don’t bother me in the least. I love snakes. And I can even live with some mouse excrement.
Ace, The Big E, Chester, the New Edition (more on that in a later post), and I piled into the minivan last Monday. Packing is hardly a challenge when you’re driving around in a gas-guzzling motel-on-wheels. Remember my pillow fetish? Not a problem.
An hour-and-a-half into the trip, The Big E requested a stop to evacuate the contents of his urinary bladder. We pulled into a gas station and he said, “Oh dear, I think I forgot my shoes.” I looked down, and there he was, wearing MY socks with nary a shoe in sight.
How do you even pile, stocking-footed, into a car for a several day trip without shoes? How does this happen?
I have a love/hate relationship with shoes. I love shoes that look swell and fit well. The fitting part is tricky, though, as I’m exceptionally picky, particularly if I’m paying retail prices. Zappos and I are playing tennis, back and forth, with boxes of shoes. I ordered, they sent, and I returned the following: Nike FS Lite Run 4 athletic shoes size 8.5 men’s, Nike Arrowz 8.5 men’s (too small for The Big E – I should’ve kept for myself), Dansko Stevie sandals size 39 (which are nothing like my beloved Dansko Stevie sandals from years ago that I bought at Steeple People for $4), Nike FS Lite Run 4 athletic shoes size 8.5 men’s (they were supposed to send an 8), Dansko Stevie sandals size 40 (the straps just didn’t fit my foot), Nike FS Lite Run 4 athletic shoes size 8 men’s (ugh), and New Balance WX608v4 women’s jill-of-all-trades shoe in a 9.5.
My current athletic shoes, purchased on clearance at Marshall’s for $29, look like they’ve walked around the world in eighty days. The Big E, being as he was, totally and completely without shoes, took my shoes. They’re a bit snug for my baby moose, but he made do, turning them into his preferred slip-on model of footwear by mashing the heels down flat.
Approximately twenty-four hours into our ordeal trip, Ace noticed that the cork on the septic system had popped up, as if under extreme pressure. To me it looked like a bit of plastic poking up out of the earth. To him, it was a gustatorial and gastrointestinal emergency. Ace called up the septic folk who hopped into their giant vacuum truck and charged us a boatload of money for “draining the system.” In the interim, I made a delightful trip to the outhouse after dousing the entire structure with DEET.
A serendipitous foray into Goodwill in town yielded a pair of black Adidas ($6). They were in the men’s section and, at first blush, looked to be The Big E’s size. I bought them. And they fit me perfectly!
We still haven’t found the missing athletic shoes. School starts tomorrow. And The Big E left my shoes at a friend’s house yesterday.