I married a man who wears the same size shoes I do. Well, technically, he has the same size feet, since I wear a 9 and he wears an 8.5 on our respective gendered size charts.
This has its benefits. I have a ready supply of gardening shoes as his gym shoes wear out. Need to run to the backyard to bring in the laundry before the rain starts? Just grab whatever pair of shoes is by the backdoor. They’ll fit.
However, there are the stranger moments. I was on my way to work this morning. My route takes me right by the YMCA we belong to, where Shannon had been for about an hour. My phone rang and I assumed he was being cute and had just seen me drive through the intersection and wanted to say hi. It is important to the story to know that today was one of the rare days when everyone at Shannon’s office is supposed to wear business attire, rather than their usual casual clothes. He’d be going to work in dress slacks and a nice shirt and tie instead of a t-shirt and jeans.
Him: You’ve already left the house haven’t you?
Me: Um, yeah. I’m on XXX already. Why? What’s wrong?
Him: Well, when I packed my gym bag this morning I grabbed the right shoe from both of my pairs of black shoes.
Me: Uh-oh. I can’t really drive all the way back home. Oh, wait. I have on the black Docs. Would that work? I can drive around the block and give them to you. I guess I can wear your gym shoes.
And that’s why I’m sitting here wearing a nice pair of tailored grey slacks and a pair of white Reeboks with black and orange trim. Because I married a man who wears the same size shoes.
I keep forgetting that I can take decent photos with my phone AND get them online!