A Day in the Life of a Pair of Shoes: Classroom Scuffle
I’m tapped nervously against the classroom floor. My owner, Whit, forgot to study for the test this morning. The endless Morse code taps give me a cramp. I attempt to tune it out by observing the variety of shoes around me. I see everything from cowboy boots to sky high heels.
“Hey, k-swish, stop with the noise,” says a male voice from behind.
K-swish? Is that a homophobic slur? It’s K-Swiss, idiot. Who are you to insult footwear? You don’t have the decency to cover yourself with socks. Your obese, naked feet, spilling out of those cheap flip-flops, resemble a pig in a thong. And nobody should be subjected to your disgusting nails. They’ve overgrown your toes. I heard them clicking against the tiles when you wobbled in here.
Whit, in his deep tone, threatens to break his foot off in the guy’s ass, with which I thoroughly object, since his foot is wearing me. We’d be lost forever in that gigantic rump, indistinguishable from his upper legs and lower back fat. Give that bastard a hangnail! Rip one right into the quick. Better yet, let me step on his feet. I bet I would bounce off like they were trampolines.
Suddenly, we’re shuffling around. Hits are exchanged. Fatty Long-nails crouches on all fours. Whit is standing and I’m swinging through space as if I were a pendulum.
We’re upholding Whit’s threat. We’re in this fight together, although I’ll be the one taking a face full of ass for our team. Remembering my broken lace, I cling to my foot as it repeatedly kicks the guy in his gargantuan butt cheeks. His sandals flop off and cower on the cold floor like abandoned orphans. They are helpless to defend their owner.
The victorious ass-kicking leaves me achy and nauseated, but it polished away my scuff marks from our battle with the flat tire. We’re one for two so far today.
I’m tapped nervously against the classroom floor. My owner, Whit, forgot to study for the test this morning. The endless Morse code taps give me a cramp. I attempt to tune it out by observing the variety of shoes around me. I see everything from cowboy boots to sky high heels.
“Hey, k-swish, stop with the noise,” says a male voice from behind.
K-swish? Is that a homophobic slur? It’s K-Swiss, idiot. Who are you to insult footwear? You don’t have the decency to cover yourself with socks. Your obese, naked feet, spilling out of those cheap flip-flops, resemble a pig in a thong. And nobody should be subjected to your disgusting nails. They’ve overgrown your toes. I heard them clicking against the tiles when you wobbled in here.
Whit, in his deep tone, threatens to break his foot off in the guy’s ass, with which I thoroughly object, since his foot is wearing me. We’d be lost forever in that gigantic rump, indistinguishable from his upper legs and lower back fat. Give that bastard a hangnail! Rip one right into the quick. Better yet, let me step on his feet. I bet I would bounce off like they were trampolines.
Suddenly, we’re shuffling around. Hits are exchanged. Fatty Long-nails crouches on all fours. Whit is standing and I’m swinging through space as if I were a pendulum.
We’re upholding Whit’s threat. We’re in this fight together, although I’ll be the one taking a face full of ass for our team. Remembering my broken lace, I cling to my foot as it repeatedly kicks the guy in his gargantuan butt cheeks. His sandals flop off and cower on the cold floor like abandoned orphans. They are helpless to defend their owner.
The victorious ass-kicking leaves me achy and nauseated, but it polished away my scuff marks from our battle with the flat tire. We’re one for two so far today.