Steve & Co., or How I Grew Three Inches TallerPosted: March 6, 2015
I thought I’d already introduced you to Steve, but a quick search tells me otherwise.
Steve is the green one, top right. The black and red belongs to my brother; you may note the crack along his equator.
Steve came to us from a yard sale, for the meager price of a single bumpy-sides quarter, as Abby calls them. Every Halloween he enjoys holding down our tombstone decoration.
I am unaware of the history of Steve’s black and red brother.
But they aren’t the real stars of the story today. It’s all about the mud.
When we merrily signed paperwork and made deposits, we did not consider the state of the yard after a heavy rain. In retrospect, this is unfortunate, but what else were we to do? This was the only option in our price range and location.
The mud and snow, however, have taught me things that I never knew I didn’t know. Like how my pair of Danskin tennys, while comfortable for making groceries and taking hikes, do not easily let go of the squishy things that cling to their soles.
During the first snow, I wore them out and left a trail behind me of dark, snowless mudholes. Every step I took increased the number of layers I walked on, until I was teetering and near disaster. I may be slightly exaggerating here. Still, Ian admonished me to stop walking around in the pretty snow because I was collecting all of it on my feet. I’ve only worn them once since then.
The mud can be disastrous as well. I wore my brother’s hightop Nikes–don’t ask me what they are, for a student of athletic shoe breeds I am not–to encourage the dog to brave the yard to go potty. I nearly lost one, then nearly lost myself in this muddy waste we call a yard. And the more steps I took, the larger my feet became, until I resembled a large duck. The mud clung to the sides of the shoes, and then more mud clung to that mud, and so on, ad infinitum.
I think I just realized why my legs were sore that one day. Stupid heavy muddy feet.