I haven't Been Myself

I haven't been myself lately, and it's really getting to me as witnessed by the following:
There we were earlier this morning...my beloved and I, at our usual table in our usual Saint Arbuck’s.

She, blazing through the Monday sudoku.

Me, contentedly sipping my coffee and not so contentedly reading of the Lakers' collapse in the second half of yesterday's playoff game versus the much hated, yet secretly admired New Orleans Hornets.

To gain a more comfortable reading position, I crossed my legs.

I do that a lot.

Crossing my legs.

I don't know why.

Maybe it’s a guy thing.

Anyway, as my eyes scanned down the newspaper column an object appeared in the periphery of my vision that struck pure terror in my soul.

A slipper.

I saw a slipper.

Attached to my foot!

I glanced surreptitiously around our immediate area and said to my wife in a whisper, "Hey! I have slippers on."

She looked up from her calculations, spotted the humiliating footwear, and as a smile eased its way onto her quite lovely face said, "Why, yes you do."

"We have to go," said I.

"Why?"

"Why?" I repeated and then gestured silently at my feet.

She waved me off and said, "No one will even notice. Besides, all that means is that you are so comfortable at Saint Arbuck’s that coming here for you is just like walking into another room of the house."

I thought about that for a minute and concluded that while she was probably right, the fact remained that I, RG—a very manly man—was out in public wearing my slippers.

She glanced down at my feet, which were, by this time, tucked tightly up underneath my chair and said, "Well, at least you didn't wear the furry ones."

So I had that going for me.

Which was nice.