My left slipper has gone missing. I thought it was perhaps under the bed, but no, it has gone on some sort of fantastic adventure. It has not sent a post card with an expected return date.
I live in a 1910 house, which is to say a cold house, with cold floors, and occasionally I want slippers. As I age, and I am perpetually cold, I seem to want them more. Which is about where this story starts – the idea of needing slippers, thinking that this cannot be a hard or expensive problem to solve, and being a bit flummoxed.
I think, and I’m not entirely sure, that my last pair of slippers came from my former MIL. For years, Aunt Peanuts used to buy me moccasins for Christmas. The upshot of this is that I am quite certain I’ve never actually bought myself a pair of slippers.
Given this, it is utterly ludicrous that I had an opinion over the cost of slippers. I’ve never bought myself any. I don’t think I have ever bought anyone else slippers. I have absolutely no basis for an opinion about slippers, but nevertheless, I find myself astonished at the cost.
I had originally thought I would just order myself a replacement pair from LL Bean. Possibly not quite a replacement pair as the pair I had were probably about half a size too large. They don’t sell my version anymore, but the approximate replacement seems to run about $125, plus shipping and I’m sorry, but I just can’t. A cheaper version (with cats) runs about $90, and that still seems to be ridiculous.
I contemplated felting myself a pair. After all, I have more wool than I could ever possibly need and I could totally do this. The problem is that with my variant of MS and Clumsy, it is patently unwise to not have a rubber bottom. It’s the sort of unwise that makes even me nervous.
There’s a funny sort of irony in this. One of my male colleagues, of the sort that I know pretty well, bought his wife slippers for Christmas. I suggested that this was perhaps, well it wasn’t the most romantic of Christmas gifts, and that very few women (his wife included) were going to complain if he bought a nice pair of earrings and placed them in the toe of the slipper. They didn’t even have to be particularly expensive earrings – just plain gold hoops. It was the extra effort that was going to net him much reward. The acknowledgement that slippers are practical, but his love for her is much greater than that, so have both warm feet and something as pretty as she is.
He did well out of my idea, although he took some time to come around to it.
There’s a bit of irony, because after panning his idea of slippers, I caught up to him at the coffee machine and asked where he got the slippers.
Which I may still refuse to buy, but at least I’ll have a better idea.