A few of you may remember the old Patti Page hit “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.”
Well, that’s me. Yet, I look on the floor of my closet, and all types of dusty shoes cover the hardwood floor. It’s as if I’m the old man’s version of Imelda Marcos.
I line them up. Including boots, tennis shoes, loafers and fancy lace-up shoes, I own 17 pairs – and sadly, three singles that lost their partners years ago.
I go into what I define as deep thought. “Don, where do you go? What shoes will get you there comfortably?”
Four pairs. That’s it. And none that need lacing.
I put the other 13 pairs in a big box for the Salvation Army.
Now, here’s the part that proves I’m still a little wacko.
I put my three singles back in the closet next to the chosen pairs. Who knows what might show up tomorrow?