Stuff happens, I refuse to write about it. But I can tell you all about my shoe drama. Shamelessly, without any mention of where I’ve been the last few weeks.

Friday afternoon, I’m on the bus to go, you know, home. Where there’s food and TV and various animals and so on, good stuff. And then God decided to remind me I live in the tropics, or whatever, because the skies opened up and it rained for about two hours while I was stranded at the mall (stranded in a, “I really don’t want to walk in that” way. Which counts, I think). It was ridiculous. I’ve seen hurricanes less violent. The water eventually calmed down and got to the point you could walk it and stay not-completely-soaked for several seconds, so I finally caught a bus and continued on my way. The rain nearly stopped before my stop, so, yay (and here’s also where I learned a Very Important Lesson about carrying an umbrella [and the prices of umbrellas at my local mall]), but the flooding was, like, a lot. Up to the knees and all.

Now, I’ve walked this sort of thing before. Specifically, when I was in high school and the yellow buses didn’t give two shits how hard it was raining or how far you had to walk. In fact, I have rather fond memories of trudging along, barefoot with rolled-up jeans, visibility about two feet ahead (one foot with the glasses on), all manner of mysterious objects running past my legs. Good times. It’s not so great when you’ve been, like, working for five or six hours and you’ve got really valuable, sensitive electronics in your bag. Still, I remembered the drill. The jeans went up, the bag went under my (rather roomy, it turns out) shirt, but the shoes stayed on because I just couldn’t make myself walk barefoot. Mistake, people. I get home, I strip, I shower, I relax for a couple of days.

Monday morning, I get changed. I go to put my sneakers on and pause. Gee, I wonder where that very distinct smell of soured milk is coming from? Oh, its from my ruined sneakers that have been quietly building bacteria all weekend. Oh.

Anyway, I flailed a moment before finding another pair of shoes – converses, otherwise known as The Most Uncomfortable Non-heeled Shoe Known to Man. Seriously, Converse, my feet are not actually entirely flat. Geez.