I always tripped in Docs. I never raised the front of my feet high enough off the ground. I was not the only person with this problem.

Out of the blue, Lorin ran upstairs, announcing: "I have to get my boots." That puzzled me, since it's 112 degrees outside and she doesn't have boots.

She came down lugging these:


"These" are 12-year-old Docs. I bought them in London the day before flying back to the States - after I lost my passport at the train station but before I realized that I lost my passport.

(Tangent: the nicest people on Earth are the police at Victoria Station. I buzzed them crying when I figured out that I had no passport, it was afternoon, and my flight back was leaving first thing in the morning. They ushered me into the station, made me tea, calmed me down with talk about how helpful the U.S. Embassy could be, called around, and found my passport at the Eurostar desk, where someone had turned it in.)

(Other tangent: The sales guy at Shelly's took one look at my feet and declared that I needed Men's sizing. Thanks.)

Anyway, I haven't worn these for a decade, but who gets rid of awesome shoes they bought in London? It's nice to see that someone else loves them.


I showed her how to check for scorpions before putting them on. You don't see that in England.