Dressing in the Dark

Old age and old aches sometimes wake me up before it’s time to get up. I’ll lie there, trying to have really boring thoughts and get back to sleep. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t.

So, I’ll get up and dress as quietly as I can, hoping I don’t disturb Randa’s restful slumber. I’ll pull on my shirt and socks, then pants, hoping I don’t knock anything over or trip myself while trying to get my feet through the appropriate legs of my britches. After I buckle my belt, I’ll slip each foot into an untied tenny shoe, hoping once more, I don’t trip up and make some unintentional noise. You know, like bashing my head against the wall. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t.

If it does work, I’ll ease out the door, come downstairs and work at the computer.

This morning, it worked. A little mix-up with trying to put my left foot into my right shoe, but nothing that disturbed Randa or injured me.

After working at the computer for about an hour and watching the first hints of dawn morph into the cresting red of sunrise, I decided to go feed the horses. First, I needed to stop by the bathroom. Don’t worry, you’re got going to get TMI from this account. First, a tiny bit of backstory.

Apparently, I’ve hit my second adolescence; my feet are growing again.

I’ve worn a size nine since high school but last year had to move up to a nine-and-a-half for my new hiking boots. Not wanting to buy an entire new sole-ful wardrobe, I kept wearing the old work shoes, muck boots, and insulated boots. My inherited frugality was not without consequence.

Six weeks ago, I developed some friction sores on a couple of my toes on each foot. I started wearing toeless house shoes for about ten to twelve hours a day. I was inside anyway and didn’t figure watching TV required much in the way of protective footwear. The sores did not get any better.

Two weeks ago, I bought a new pair of muck boots and a new pair of athletic shoes at Wally World. Figured I’d see if wearing Tens instead of Nines made any difference before I laid out a hundred bucks or more for a higher quality pair. Having a really nice pair of Brooks running shoes, I was hesitant to get rid of those. Just left them sitting by the clothes hamper in the bedroom. Right next to the new pair of larger and wider but cheaper Avias.

They seem to be working well. I like the looser fit; they certainly feel more comfortable. No change yet in the sores on my toes but the doctor tells me to be more patient. (See what I did there? Tee hee…) Well, they felt more comfortable until this morning.

While I was sitting there in the bathroom in a reflective mood, I noticed that my right foot felt a bit cramped in the shoe. I curled my toes down to verify it wasn’t just a momentary mental apparition. Yep, that didn’t feel good.

“Good grief!” I thought, “How could my feet already be getting bigger in just two weeks?”

I leaned over and squeezed the end of my shoe. Yep, toes pushing right against the end of the shoe, just like they were in that old pair of Brooks… Hey, wait a minute… that is my Brooks! Good grief, indeed, Charlie Brown!

New Avia on my left foot, old Brooks on my right. That explains the tight fit and the little mix-up getting dressed in the dark this morning. Now, a few hours later, I’m wearing matching shoes and enjoying the more comfortable fit.

It’s understandable that we get a bit confused, slip up and embarrass ourselves from time to time. Part of the package with this human experiment, er, I mean human experience, thing. Making mistakes is just part of it. Can’t help that. Continuing to wear the wrong shoe instead of admitting the mistake is something else.

Sometimes pride and stupidity become rather intertwined. Either one of them can trip you up. Combining the two can be downright dangerous.