A FEW MONTHS ago, when it was still snowing outside, I purchased a new pair of bedroom slippers to replace the old pair that had a hole in it. I loved them and wore them often around the house. Soon after I got them I had a severe “toe-stubbing” accident which caused a tiny hole in the toe of the right slipper that was just like the one in the old pair, owing to the fact that the big toe on my right foot is, well, a big toe, bigger than one might like, and presses more insistently into the fabric of the slipper.
Anyway, that tiny hole slowly morphed into a bigger hole, but since the slippers were almost new I kept wearing them. But, planning ahead, I ordered another pair for that day in the future when they would become unwearable. The new ones arrived the next day (thank you, Zappos!) and I looked at them lovingly before stowing them in the back of my closet.
Meanwhile, I hated my slippers with the hole in the toe but still kept wearing them because they were in great shape, except for the, well, you know. Then this morning I spoke with a friend who recounted a sad story involving the unexpected, out-of-the-blue death of one of her oldest and dearest friends, just about a week ago. Sad for her loss, I commiserated as best I could.
I had met the newly deceased woman while visiting my friend a few months ago, and had enjoyed her vibrant company at a group dinner. When we parted, I said I’d surely see her again in the fall when my husband and I would again be visiting. Only now I won’t, because she’s gone. Just like that. It was quick, a heart attack perhaps. No drama, no 911 call, Dolores just went upstairs to do something and when her husband went looking for her, there she was. Dead.
So today I got out those new slippers from the back of my closet and put them on, and packed away the old slippers with the hole in the toe. I figured, why wait?
Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.