Living In Moot Mode

SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse

Is it just me, or does anyone else wonder about the lone shoe or boot on the side of the road?

How does that happen? Do drivers and/or passengers  take one off and dangle it out the car window until it slips from their grasp? If so, why?

Is it fun?

Are these people snubbing their noses at the bourgeois?

Or maybe, pedestrians are the culprits!

Picture it: a person is walking along and suddenly decides the left shoe is no damn good and ditches it on the spot. Get thee behind me, bad shoe!

Notice how you never see a pair of errant shoes, it’s always just one.

Why keep the right one? This pair of shoes has spent a lot of time in one another’s company. Surely, even in the shoe and boot microcosm, bad habits and questionable ideologies  rub off.

Something huge is afoot. I can feel it.

 

SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse
shoesandyoga.com

 

 

 

Cristal, Marty, & Me

SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse

The first thing that came to mind when I read the prompt for today was, shit. I don’t much feel like writing about that. The next thing I thought of was shampagne/champagne, so let’s go with that.

I had the opportunity to taste good champagne only once in my life, so far. It happened at a friend’s daughter’s wedding.

Cristal Champagne.

It’s the most amazing stuff: smooth, rich flavor; not even a hint of those sharp, biting, bubbles so common in the cheap shit crap. And, no hangover. None.

I had a sick tooth extracted today–one of the last of the Mohicans. It hung on like a trooper, but there was an infection in my jaw so it had to go.

Marty, was his name.

We’d been through a lot of food together, Ol’ Marty & me. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks–you name it, we ate it.

OMG! There was this one time when we…oh, what the heck. The past is the past. It’s time to let go.

Sure could use a glass of Cristal now.

Bye, Marty!

The Liar Heart

SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse

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I’ve done some pretty dumb things in my life. Looking back, the mistakes could have easily been avoided if I’d listened to my head instead of my heart. My heart is a liar. It’s made of fool of me a thousand times; an idiot, a real chump-ette.

Yet, I believe it.

My heart is one smooth operator. It’s gotten so bad that even my head believes it now.

I’m screwed.

SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse