Jenny is coming into the office today, so I made sure to wear cute shoes. (Must be a BlogHer thing.) While I was driving, singing along to Folsom Prison Blues, I remembered that my shiny purple three-inch high heeled pumps had muddy water spots on them that I forgot to wipe off. So, that is how I found myself at 8:30 a.m., driving down the freeway barefooted, with my left foot up on the seat, my left arm resting on my knee, singing I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die at the top of my lungs, while using my own spit and fingers to clean my shoes.
I think they might smell like bad coffee breath now, but they're far away enough from my nose that it doesn't matter. I'm going through peppermints like crazy though, so if I start to catch an unpleasant whiff later, I can just discretely spit on my feet.
i think cleaning your shoes is a compliment in Iran
God, those are cute. Even though it makes my Achilles tendons ache just to look at them.
I must try that on the bus one of these days.