Rest In Pieces

I had to bury my tennis shoes this morning.

I’ve always believed that there is some type of spirit that exists in inanimate objects. The type of spirit that is idle until it comes into contact with a human.

That’s why empty houses always fall apart…..

No soul….No spirit to share.

My truck Bertha has a spirit.

She gets bitchy when I pee on her tires.

Anyways…

I have had these tennis shoes for 3 YEARS!!

They have been re-soled…re-stitched and re- Dr. Scholl’s insert thingee-duh.

They have had countless laces of countless colors.

They have Gold Bond foot powder soaked into their very DNA.

I’ve ran in them (not far)

I’ve slept with them. (Not in the biblical sense you pervs)

I’ve puked on them…peed on them…killed bugs with them…and threw them at the TV.

Good times….

I have looked at them while forming an excuse or a lie and always gotten inspiration from them.

I have yet to be caught when I follow their advice, or path of escape.

I have crushed beer cans with them.

I have tripped toddlers with them (This is fun as hell)

They have gotten me home after a bender. Even if there were 4 of them.

That’s why drunks always fall down now that I think about it. The regular feet get tripped by the other 4 tequila feet.

I have kicked footballs with them. (Not far)

I have slipped on wet grass after kicking said football and bruised my coccyx in them.

FYI: Coccyx = butt-bone or tail-bone

 I am amazed I didn’t even have to spell check that word coccyx.

FYI: The coccyx is connected to everything else in your body. When you hurt it……OMG!

It’s up there with kidney stones and labor pain.

Anywho…

As I stepped down from my truck this morning I caught the sole of my right shoe on the step somehow and completely ripped it off.

 I was devastated!

“Nooo!” I hollered.

Dammit!

I looked at the sole hanging from the step. I could see my perfectly pedicured piggy’s poking out from the end of my shoe.

They were looking at me as if saying…”Dude…?!”

I was really sad about it.

It was time to let them go.

I grabbed my pimp sandals and headed for the dumpster.

But as I went to throw them away…I stopped.

My heart said “Is that how you treat your loyal friends?”

My brain said “They’re just tennis shoes”

My heart said “Shut up”

My brain said “Make me”

My heart stopped…

My brain screamed “Okay! Okay!”

My heart said “Keep your shit in your head where it belongs, I run this bad boy!”

My brain aquiesed. (SIC)

I had to spell check that word acquiesced.

So…I buried my faithful long suffering treads in a cornfield next to my truck.

It was a quiet ceremony.

My poor tennis shoes had no certain religious affiliation I am aware of.

The mourners were just me…RuRu, Cullman, Steve and Bob and Bertha.

I looked down at the small grave weeping, standing there with the dark, moist Indiana soil under my bare feet, the rain coming down like ribbons of anguished….okay….dang!

So, I’m a drama queen….

The perfectly pedicured piggy’s were raising hell about their laquered finish getting muddy.

I couldn’t wear another pair of shoes while burying my old ones.

Just didn’t seem right.