My goal this morning was to walk into work (I’d left my bike in the office due to yesterday’s thunderstorm) wearing my sneakers and schlepping my workout gear and computer in my backpack. But then I noticed how dorky my sneakers looked with these khakis (you can imagine, no?) and slipped on my regular brown office shoes, one of which (the left foot) is about a half-size too big.
The last time I wore these walking to work, the shoe produced a nasty blister on the back of my foot. It also tends to roll my sock around inside the shoe, which is very annoying.
Anyway, I’m tromping awkwardly over the Intercity Bridge, admiring how the river has nearly inundated the small island below the Ford Dam, when I notice the Crapmobile zipping past me, heading east. I waved, but my lovely wife was oblivious, and for a moment I wondered whether she’d notice my shuffling gait and take pity on me by pulling over and transporting me the last half mile to the office, but, no, she just continued on. Which, of course, made me wonder whether I’d committed some domestic faux pas this morning that had left her peeved (even after 28 years of marriage, you sometimes never know . . . especially if you’re as oblivious as I am), so I flipped open my cell phone and gave her a call and learned that she had indeed seen me on the bridge and had thought about stopping, but there was no shoulder on which to safely pause and, besides, she was anxious to get to the co-op and get some potting soil before the washing machine repair guy showed up.
Relieved that I had not somehow offended her earlier, and happy to notice that the sock on my left foot had made one complete revolution,
I walked on up the hill.
No treadmill tonight.