This is a tale of love, loss, and orphaned shoes.
First of all, let me tell you how much I love Jellies (and I don’t mean the delicious, purple-flavored friend of peanut butter). I really love Jellies. A lot. So earlier this spring, when I saw a friend wearing the loveliest Jellies ever, I had to find out where she got them. Turns out the answer was Disco Kroger, of all places. So, I headed to Disco Kroger armed with a shopping list that read something like “grapefruit, cheerios, lentils, shoes” to check it out. I sat on the floor next to the Jellies display, digging to find my size. After about ten minutes and some help from a nice employee, I finally found them. Clear, dainty, size 6 Jellies. $4.99. Life was good.
Fast forward a few months, to June. I’m visiting San Marcos with friends, and we decide to go tubing. Despite a hunch that it might be a bad idea, I decided to wear the jellies. I tied them to the tube (or “toob” if you’re a frat boy), and we were on our way. About 20 minutes later, I realized the rope had come untied, and one of my precious Jellies had been lost at sea. I tried to drown my sorrow by drinking wine from a water bottle, but it didn’t help.
Despite my sadness, I also had a more pressing problem – we had walked to the river, and now had to walk home down a rocky path, and I only had one shoe. I’d been hobbling along stoically for a while, when we came to a clearing near the river. As we got closer to the water, I noticed a lonely tennis shoe. Not my Jelly, but I wondered if this was some sort of shoe graveyard, where the river dumped lost shoes. My theory seems to have been proven right – there were three or four other lonely shoes on the bank. Someone pointed out a ladies’ flip flop, which was the same color as my remaining Jelly. I decided that mismatched shoes were better than walking on stabby rocks for another 20 minutes, so I picked it up. As it turned out, it was not only the right color, but the right foot and the right size. I wore it the rest of the way home, and even enjoyed the alternating squeak and flop sounds that result from wearing two different plastic shoes. I never did find my lost Jelly, but I am glad that I was able to give someone else’s lost shoe a new purpose.
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