Both gray Converse and ratty—yes, I have two pairs of ratty gray Converse—but clearly different. Slightly varying shades of gray, one with black around the tread, one with a red label, one with white. No one noticed.

Not Harold and Gale—our neighbors who invited us for breakfast and served incredible BaconSausageOnionCheese omelets. Harold who ALWAYS makes fun of my laceless, pitiful Converse shoes… Rightfully so.

Not John—my husband who walked with me to Harold and Gale’s house for breakfast, then spent the entire day with me stringing Christmas lights.

Not the CVS Pharmacist who gave me a flu shot, half of which trickled down my arm into my mis-matched shoe.

Later that same night at the Munger Place Christmas party, I was certain to wear matching shoes (black patent flats, not ratty Converse). But, chit-chatting with my girlfriends I noticed a bit of an itch at my throat, a slight irritant. A clothing tag? I was wearing my sweater backwards! Luckily, no one noticed that either.