It doesn’t matter how great your shoes are if you don’t accomplish anything in them. – Martina Boone
Looking at forty-five-year-old shoe reviews in Running, I see I weighed a regular size 11 1/2. I was younger then.
The latest box from Nike is labeled 13 EEEE. Four fused toes will do that to you.
Was hoping for Super Shoes, of course.
Didn’t get super shoes. Also, of course. Got something better.
The Air Monarch is literally the cheapest shoe on the company’s web site. To be honest, was a little disappointed. Which is completely stupid on my part and I apologize. Truly humbled every time I am surprised with a pair.
But I don’t wear leather shoes. Not in Florida, where I pound pavement year round.
I like mesh. Mesh breathes and those rogue digits reach out for every seam.
There’s a note: “I call these ‘The Fat Shoe.’ Toes should be safe.”
The Air Monarch looks suspiciously orthopedic, while I am accustomed to far flashier footwear.
But not in 4E. In EEEE, you get black or white. I got white.
Nike used to send some festive shoes. And I used to stay up late and boogie all night long, too.
My shoes came in. Been far too long.
And Swoosh! Just like that they're here.
Too beautiful to lift from its orange vessel.
Nestled in virginal tissue, Two pair.
One, a fluorescent yellow visible from outer space.
Other, red & black & orange maybe.
My eyes hurt. Size thirteen.
Wife's first thought:
'I can stuff the toes with socks, be a clown at Halloween.'
Me thinking
maybe glow--in-the-dark pair could be reserved for
formal affairs,
weddings,
proms,
balls,
photo shoots,
and funerals.
Especially funerals.