Ruby Red Slippers

              A few years ago, I purchased a pair of slippers from the department store, at the end of the season.  I had been thinking about buying them all winter.  They were fur lined, thick soled, suede slippers; actually they were shoes, but I wanted to use them as slippers.  When I finally decided to go for it however; the only color left in my size was red.  I do like red, but wasn’t sure if it would be a “practical” color, so I spent a bit of time “hemming and hawing” before I bought them.

              I loved them right from the start. (as much as one can love a pair of slippers, that is)  They were warm, sturdy, and comfortable, they never even had to be “broken in.”   I wore them everywhere, really; I did.  I remember hopping into the suburban early that spring, on our way to Grand Valley to catch the Awards Ceremony for Science Olympiad.  We headed down the road, late as usual, when I glanced down at my feet, “Ahhhhh!” I yelled.  I was wearing my slippers.  We turned the truck around and headed home for a wardrobe change.  

              One Sunday morning, after making sure everyone else had matching socks, combed hair, brushed teeth, and full tummies, I dashed to the truck, hopped in, and took a deep cleansing breath.  “Vonnie,” Dwight said, looking down at my feet. Yep, there were my pantyhose, tucked neatly into my red slippers; again.  Back to the house for a wardrobe change.  Probably the only glitch to my ruby reds was that they were so comfy, I couldn’t remember that I was wearing them!

               We were almost to the Farm Market in Rockford, one damp, rainy Saturday morning this fall, when I discovered that I’d left the house in my slippers once again.  I was stuck with them, we didn’t have time to go back.  I sheepishly told a fellow vendor that I’d worn my slippers.  “I love your slippers!” she said enthusiastically.  I felt a little less insecure after that, though the low heels of the slippers allowed for my jean cuffs to drag in the puddles that morning and by the time we left the market, my pants were soaked; clear up to my knees.

              When I do remember to take my slippers off, I leave them by the back door, hoping to slip right back into them when I get home.  More often than not though, I have to send out a search and rescue team; everyone else likes my slippers, too.  Last night,  I got home from church, and found the spot where I thought I’d left my slippers empty.  I checked my bedroom in front of my dresser, nothing.  “Have you seen my slippers?”  I asked Maddie. (she is usually the perpetrator)  She had not seen them.  “Has anyone seen my slippers?”  I tried, feebly.  Nothing.  I sent the younger kids out looking, they turned up empty handed.  Eventually, I gave up, sure I would find them in the morning under someone’s bed.  My feet were cold, and I was annoyed.   “Why can’t they just leave my stuff alone?”  I went up to bed, walked around to my side, and there were my slippers, right where I had left them.