I cry when I tell people how much it hurts when people who I care about tell me that I am too weird to be part of their lives. I actually cry. I have been told that I don’t fit in and that I am too much for people to handle and thus need to remove myself from situations more times than I can count, but it never hurts any less. I never see it coming, even though the warning signs are there, even though.
On this particular night I was snuggling with this boy thing I have been entertained by for what is way past the expiration point of this romance and has finally been distilled down to the only part that is enjoyable for the two of us — sex. When he told me that he didn’t want to talk to me any more and that I was too weird to be his girlfriend I tried to not laugh and I tried to not cry. But I did both, I just sort of blurted them out. Then I got drunk on gin with his cat.
At some point during the gin drunk, the cat and I decided it would be hilarious to take one of ever shoe he had and hide it, you know as a practical joke. The boy must have 50 pairs of shoes and they are all piled by the front door, and his gym bag was there — how could I help it? Would you want me to help it? He was upstairs sleeping and I was drunk on his sofa talking to his cat who has a clipped ear (indicating that she was spayed by the humane societies program that prevents breeding of feral cats) and a chopped off two thirds tail that indicates she is a bad ass and has seen some shit.
Naturally the cat and I are a devious pair.
So I put one of ever shoe in the bag. I didn’t notice that they had all been left shoes. But they were. I stashed them outside and hoped no one would steal the bag. I went back in and had a fight and then a snuggle on the couch — just feet from the missing shoes — we snuggled there for five hours. Then I tell him I’m going to Elizabeth’s for breakfast and jump up, taking off quickly, before he can spot the missing shoes. At this point I’m just flabbergasted that he has not actually seen them, or rather seen them not.
I go outside and as I walk past the place I stashed the bag I realize that it is gone. Shit! The bag is gone. This floods me with emotions ranging from panic, to confusion, to a raging set of the giggles. I am overjoyed that my job has gone wrong and yet I am terrified because I now realize the severity of what I have done. This boy is not going to be happy when he finds his shoes have gone for a one sided walk without him. I assumed that he would never speak to me again. I was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, it just was. And I began to laugh and cry and hyperventilate. And it rained.
Later he came to my home in a rage, asking my offspring to please have their mother return his left shoes. I’m sure he looked like a speed freak misfit on my porch, barefoot, looking for his shoes.
I also got an email from him threatening to report the theft of all his left shoes to the New Orleans police and then I busted out in laughter because in NOLA they have real crim. A nilly little white boy going in to report that his sometimes girlfriend made off with all his left shoes is only going to induce a litany of jokes from the police. I imagined a scene from reno 911 and it made me happy, really happy.
At this point I’m not sure what happened to his shoes. I assume that someone took the bag, went a couple blocks, looked in it and dumped the shoes, opting to keep what ever good stuff may have been in the bag. I started to worry, was his wallet in the bag? I knew his keys were not in the bag as soon as I heard about his shoeless appearances.
I was giddy. I was kind of scared. I was elated to see how this was going to play out. Part of me wanted him to never find them. After another hour or so I got an email from him suggesting that he found the bag of shoes and that it was an awesome practical joke. Though the email seemed a little stilted, suggesting that maybe I was really going to throw them into the rubbish and that this was his attempt to play nice hoping to have them returned. I was not sure if he really found them, but I let it ride, when I saw him on tuesday he had indeed found his shoes.
But dam if that was not a special time to be messing with someone and not hurting them at all. I love a good mind fuck, especially one that takes over and pulls the fuckee even further into the game. Especially a silly game.
I am the left shoe bandit!