(Literally. On my old shoes there was gold. And my new shoes are silver.)
A letter to my old shoes:
Dear Old Shoes,
I will miss you. You have been good to my feet for many years. We have ran many miles together. From the Red Dirt of Oklahoma to the beaches of "de island." You have watched me fall a few times while we were together (gracefully I might add.) You have carried me away from creepy old men in cadillacs and we have ran away from coyotes (that weren't chasing us.) There are holes in you now, from my bunions. I know, I know. A woman my age shouldn't have bunions. You though, my friend, accomadated for my deformity by wearing a hole in yourself. But don't be sad. I will keep you around. Alas, therein lies the sad news. No longer will you carry me to thinness and endurance. You will now be my go to pair for dog doo doo raking and cleaning the garage. I know, not a very prestigious retirement. But always remember, you are gold.
Sincerely,
Me (and my feet)
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