Big Shoes

Today was wildy productive.  I had a massage.  I paid a library fine I've been avoiding.  I picked up paperwork for applying for new passports.  I shopped for two and half hours.  I hung out with my husband.  I had a dentist appointment.  I made a fancy dinner.  I went to my Zumba class.  I transported Michael to pick up his car.  I did the dishes.  I read a magazine- to the end, even.  I familiarized myself with my Ipod apps.  I took a bath.  And, in a little while, I will have written a blog entry. 

But the question I pose is this: was it truly a successful day, could it really be counted as productive, if I did all of this with my shirt worn inside-out?

(Yes, I did.)

I sang in church last weekend.  There is a Saturday service with rehearsal beforehand at 4:20.  Last weekend, I made history by being on time.  When I stepped out of the car in the church parking lot, I noticed that my left foot felt funny in my shoe.  It felt...different than my right foot.  I looked down and to my horror, saw a brown leather shoe on my left foot, and a black weather-resistent one on my right.  I looked at the clock.   Technically, I could run home and correct the shoe situation, but then I would be late, as I always am.  For once I wanted to be on time.  I walked into church and stayed there, and stood up to sing with two mismatched feet planted firmly on the ground. 

Something's always gotta give.  I can be on-time for choir rehearsal, but my shoes won't match.  I can check-off a very long to-do list, but don't count on me to put my shirt on correctly.

As it turns out, Oliver doesn't have very big shoes to fill, after all.  And look! His match.  He's already ahead of his mother.