soapboxdiner

A little shoe, a big shoe, a dog and a bed

Well chicken pies, the Stereo didn't bring me down (down down down down down, awoohoo - $20 for the person who knows the song).

No, no new stereo/home entertainment system/DVD-VCR combos that so tempted and tormented me at the end of last week. I've survived that episode of the SBD Immediate Gratification Hour. Yes, I'm a stronger woman now because of it - thank you for asking.

However, and probably more appropriately, I am still much poorer now as this new week begins. It all started with a foot. You know the foot, the wee tiny little size children's 12 that at first lies perfectly still in the middle of your bed... the one that every night you get down on your hands and knees looking for a brace as you push, coax and cajole out of the middle of the bed... the same foot that at last relents only to have it's tiny wee nerve cells send tiny wee electrical impulses up to arms and flanks telling them to rollright back over into the direct center of the bed? Yes, the same tiny wee foot that's attached to the tiny wee head that snores and snorts and leaves tiny wee drool puddles pooled upon your pillow. Say that three times fast.

I knew the day of sharing my bed with this tiny wee night demon were coming to an end. I knew it when I'd wake up cold with all the blankets sausage rolled around a tiny wee cherub-cheeked occupant completely at peace lying slack jawed and spread eagle with his elbow on my trachea. I knew it. And some things you just know, you know?

That day came this weekend. Trips to the vintage stores. Trips to the bargain stores. And one last trip to Ikea. I swear as God as my witness, I will go to Ikea no more (no more no more no more - $1 for the person who gets that song, it's an easy one). But many dollars and only a handful or new gray hairs later, a new bed for my tiny wee cherub-cheeked night demon has been purchased, constructed, deconstructed, and constructed again. (Stupid pictograph Norwegian instructions. Somewhere in the world, there is a little man named Oli who is laughing at me.)

Can I get an amen? I say, can I get an AYmen?

Oh yeah, I also started painting my living room and hall, too. And Nora came over Friday night for movies, half raw pizza and White Oleander. We didn't get very far in the movie, but we had a lovely time anyway discussing cultural pride and the three strikes a 1. black 2. woman 3. lesbian faces in today's American society and played with an adorable 16 month old Boston Terrior.

Over margaritas, I glanced over to the front door and spied her ample tennis shoe atop my unassuming flip flop. I wish there were a way I could describe the indellible snap shot of quiet intimacy it burned into my brain, seeing two shoes nestled together lying askew in a heap on the floor. I can't rightly say if it would be lost on everyone save me, but I'm sure it held the evening's analogy du jour that despite all the differences and similarities we each bring with us, in the end and at the basest levels, we are all the same - need and want the same things.

Or something like that anyway.

5:53 am - 05.05.03
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