Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


I've got a little problem at work. I'm being eaten alive.

Granted, my job is not as tough as that of a herpetologist searching the wilds of South America for the world's largest green anaconda.

But I am wrestling with my own biting issue. As a molder of young minds, braving the rugged terrain of ninth grade social mores, I need a pair of comfortable shoes. And I have them. Therein lies the problem.

My brown leather cushy-soled shoes get me through the day. They get me through the half-day even better. Changing shoes at lunchtime makes me feel like a new woman. And if not new, at least like a recently-detailed and new-on-the-market woman.

Nobody complains about my casual footwear, my white leather New Balance that start the day with me. My workplace has a relaxed atmosphere. You can wear just about anything besides jeans or sweats or belly shirts. It's not like I need a pair of Manolo Blahniks to hike down from my perch on the parking lot wall and remove a condom from the varsity locker room door handle. Okay. Honestly, I just reported that to the principal, and the custodian did it for me. But he wasn't wearing Manolos, either.

I don't need a J. Peterman Himalayan walking shoe to tramp around the classroom while visually probing the landscape for cell phones. My comfy brown shoes do the trick. But with a price.

My shoes are hogs. Sock hogs. They eat more socks than a truckload of recalled dryers on the way back to the manufacturer for the sole defect of sock-eating. The shoes scarf up socks like a sixteen-year-old boy scarfs up pizza at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Those sock-hogs have my little piggies squealing, "Wee, wee, wee!" all the way home, in fear of being cannibalized. At some point, I fear, they will need to be shoeuthanized.

But they are so comfortable.


Linda O'Connell said...

My husband caught me hot gluing the sole of my tennis shoe and offered to buy me a new pair. He can't understand that I don't want a new pair, I want this pair.

Speaking of things outside classroom doors, long ago in a public middle school I discovered boogers all over the presidential bulletin board display. Yeah, old Abe and George had real clunkers coming out of their noses. Ah, to be a teaher. I need my comfy shoes!

Val Thevictorian said...

I wish I had only found Abe and George in need of nasal mining the day I sat down at a student seat and a string of snot stretched about 12 inches from the desk to my hand. Even the kids started gagging.

Luckily, I had on my comfy shoes, so I could run to the giant bottle of GermX that I provide for all. Mostly for my sanity.