I took out the broken shoe lace and then the other, but stopped.
I was sad. I had had these shoe laces for over five years. I tied them up every morning while on my mission and every subsequent affair where sneakers didn't suffice.
I actually took a moment to think about theses laces. They've been caked in West Virginian mud, soaked in Ohioan rain, and one was shorter from being caught by my bike pedal in Virginia.
It was kind of the end of an era. I didn't shed a tear, but when I dropped them into my trash can, maybe I should have.
4 comments:
i still remember my pain at putting my favorite black church pants in a rubbish bag after two summers of amazing use. i was on a bike for 8+ months, and they had no holes in the rump. they used to be black, but with so much sun exposure and sweat they had become grey/purple/sheen depending on the lighting. i quietly got rid of them, but have never forgotten them. amen.
kindof like when I stopped sleeping with my blanky when I was little... but don't worry. last semester I found it in my closet at home and started sleeping with it again.
That is really gay. It's a shoelace, get over it.
Remember that one time you didn't go do baptisms for the dead because you broke your shoelace...
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