My blue shoes.

I realized today that my shoes are approaching 7 years of service. I rarely think of the age of my clothes because...well...because I don't like to. If I looked long and hard I could find the oldest piece of clothing I have and still wear and I imagine it would be 12 years old or so. This approximation does not include my party sweater with whimsical dog and cat image that I wore in 6^th grade. With anything that has been serving for so many years, my shoes have a story.

I owe these shoes to my dear, sweet, burly husband. He is, and always has been, a fan of shoes. He appreciates a good pair for himself but rarely ventures to purchase them. For me, on the other hand, he will drive an hour away, in a car with no air conditioning, and a lousy starter for one pair of cute, pale blue shoes. He will buy those shoes and an unexpected red pair and then push-start the aforementioned car with no air conditioning out of the store parking lot, just so my feet will be adorned with springtime color and style.

Drew, thank you. Thanks for the shoes, for the memories, for the laughs, and for making me feel special in my assortment of footwear.