Member-only story
It started like any other Tuesday: tired, rushed, and fueled by coffee that should have had a warning label on it. I shuffled to the closet, ready to take on the world (or at least my email), and grabbed my trusty sneakers.
These shoes weren’t just shoes; they were friends. They were with me on all of my bad decisions, from the walk that ended in a muddy swamp to the time I tried jogging but quickly changed my mind. When I put my feet in today, though, something felt wrong.
The left shoe, which usually bends easily, refused to give way. It doesn’t feel snug like a well-worn favorite, but it does feel That “nope, not today” protest. I frowned and pushed harder. In response, it curled in on itself in a way that made my toes feel like they were trying to work out a peace deal.
“Uh, really?” I said something while looking at the right shoe. It sat there and was very quiet, as if it had planned the whole thing.
I pulled them both off and looked at them. Nothing. There are no signs of wear or strange blockages. I did it again. This time, the right shoe joined in and wouldn’t let my heel fit.
It was a desperate whisper, but I begged, “Don’t do this to me.” “I’m already late.”
My shoes didn’t care, though.
I stood there in my socks and looked at them. My mind was full of ideas for what could happen. Was this their punishment for stepping in that puddle and not washing their feet right? Or did…
