I still don’t.
I lost a pair of shoes.
While I was wearing them.
Which I did not discover until Tom and I pulled into the parking lot at EPCOT this afternoon and I went to slip them back on, and *POOF* they weren’t there.
They are nowhere in the Vanagon.
They were my good Margaritaville flip-flops.
I have NO idea.
I had them on when I left my house and am fairly certain I had them on when we left his, and have, in fact, checked his studio and bedroom, and they are not there. Which is a good thing because had they been in either place and I truly had no memory of walking out of his house and through a 7-11 barefoot, I was going to call a neurologist (I do both those things regularly but not ususally without shoes in the car, and not usually on the way to Disney). This is getting freaky.
Getting into EPCOT barefoot was a trick, but when the girl at MouseGear asked if I wanted to wear my new flipflops and I said yes, she asked me if it was because my other shoes were too hot. Admitting to a total stranger that you have lost your shoes whilst riding in a closed vehicle… well, let’s just say there’s no way to tell anyone that and expect them to believe you’re wholly in possession of your faculties.
But then again, who would believe it anyway when they were watching you pay $16 for a pair of prison-friggin-flipflops? Of course, they do have the likeness of Captain Jack Sparrow on them, so that justifies the cost (it so does NOT).
But hey, found the bra- on my dresser, neatly folded on top of a coconut but under a pair of pants.
The bookstore wants to give me keys to the store. Should I warn them?
I still don’t.