An Open Letter to My Shoes

Dear PF Flyers,

I really like you. I really do. When I bought you a few weeks ago, along with those lace-less Converse shoes you share the closet with, I thought you were some of the coolest looking shoes I had ever seen. And then I tried you on and found out, hey, you’re comfortable too! Always a bonus. I love the way you look with jeans, very casual and cool, relaxed, you know? You’re just really great. Really.

Which is what makes this next thing I have to say so awkward. I’m not sure I can wear you anymore.

I’m sorry. I could lie to you and say, “It isn’t you, it’s me.” But – and I’m sorry to say it like this, so blunt and to the point – it is you. It’s totally you.

Look, you’re comfortable and stylish, and for the first part of any day that I wear you, you’re great. I’ve got no complaints at all. It’s just that late in the day, you change. It’s not like you stop being stylish or stop being comfortable. It’s that you start making noise.

Farting noises.

With every step.

I thought it might get better over time. “They just need some time, to be a little more broken in. Give the shoes a break. You’re always so judgmental.” But I gave you time, and you just got worse. The more walking I do in you, the more farty you get. And I have to explain you to people. “It’s my shoes,” I say. “They make noise.”

“Sure,” they say. “It’s the shoes.”

I just can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry. But a man has his limits. I am sorry. I really thought we might have some great years together.

I’m also sorry to tell you I’ve already moved on, and that it’s the Converse shoes that I now prefer. I know it’s probably douche-y of me, you two are closetmates and all. But the heart wants what it wants.

And I want to move on. Without accompanying farty noises.

I’m sorry.