What I’m about to tell you is not hyperbole. It’s the Lord’s honest truth. I just finished lacing my new athletic shoe and I’m worn out. I need to rest on my recliner. Perhaps even take a nap between my cool summer sheets. I’ve been lacing shoes all my life, but this is the first time one ever caused a meltdown. Whether it was due to a walk around the block or from frustration with the new shoelace holes, either way, I’m done for the day and it’s only mid-morning.
It’s like this. When Kohl’s was closing their Soo store, I purchased athletic shoes. I planned on doing a lot of walking this summer and I needed what were once called “running” shoes. I no longer run, but this morning the weather was perfect for a walk, a stroll if you will. I took the shoes from their box and started tying a knot in the right shoe when I noticed one lace was three inches longer than the other. I figured it would be a simple matter of pulling the laces until they were the same length. This was something I had done many times in the past and never encountered a problem.
I tend to forget that nothing is as it used to be. For some strange reason, the laces refused to cooperate. I had no choice but to completely unlace them and begin from the beginning. That’s when the real trouble started. The tip of the lace would not go through the hole. I pushed and shoved, but it was no use. The lace balked at entering the hole.
In sheer frustration, I threw the shoe across the room. Luckily, I’ve sold or given away most of my furniture and all of the knick-knacks I once treasured but now consider mere junk so nothing was affected by my temper outburst. I sat on my faux Queen Anne side chair and uttered a mouthful of unsavory words. Then I got up and did what every disgusted female does. I baked a batch of cookies. Don’t ask me what kind they were because I don’t know. I make up recipes on 3×5 cards and put them in my recipe box. The card I pulled out simply said “cookies.” As there was no flavoring other than vanilla, I added a teaspoon of anise seed. I suppose I made anise cookies, but I couldn’t taste the spice. Age had robbed it of its licorice flavor.
After consuming five tasteless cookies, I looked at the shoe waiting to be laced. It was rather pathetic, laying on its side, new and unwanted. I felt sorry for it. After all, it had no say in how it was made. It wasn’t its fault if the lace couldn’t go through the hole. The fault, as Cassius would tell Brutus, lay with me. I was determined to discover where the glitch was. There had to be an explanation. A simple answer that would solve the mystery. I’m not a novice at lacing shoes. Maybe I never learned how to lace my white baby shoes, but I certainly had plenty of practice on my saddle oxfords. I wore them every day I attended elementary school.
I turned on a light and carefully examined the plastic end of the lace. It was rectangular. Then I examined the hole and discovered where I had gone wrong. I was trying to stick what I thought was a round lace into a rectangular hole. A hole so tiny that I needed a magnifying glass to see it. Once I matched the duo, I was back in business.
If you don’t buy new shoes every year, be cautioned, especially if you’re purchasing shoes requiring laces. You’re entering new territory. A new frontier where round eyelets are outdated and rectangles rule. Remember that bit of advice and you’ll avoid a Monday morning meltdown.
To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. Kennedy’s book, “The SideRoad Kids as Adults,” is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Petoskey News-Review: A Monday morning meltdown | Opinion
Reporting by Sharon Kennedy, Community Columnist / The Petoskey News-Review
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