A morning in my shoes

I woke up this morning, drooling on my friends living room pillows. My back was positioned in an arch between a stiff reading chair, and an even stiffer leather footrest. The first thought I had was not, "Sleep," and considering how late I was up, its surprising to me that I was able to open my eyes so early. Since this friend of mine lives in a gated community, its necessary to call the gate for any expected guests. Fortunately for me, I didn't have the number and I didn't feel like waking up anybody and dealing with the groggily stink eye. The next, and most reasonable alternative was to text my mother and tell her I would meet her at the Apple Hill community gate in approximately 20 minutes. As I tip toed over to my bag, threw it over my shoulder, I began to look for my little brown flip flops. Apparently, throwing random articles of clothing in the living room into the air, lifting up bags, peering under furniture and retracing my steps didn't exactly help me find the golden ticket. I checked the kitchen, stole a Popsicle while I was in there, (why not?) and left.

I know what you may be thinking, "I thought this was called A Morning In Abby's Shoes" Which is true yes, but in all actuality I was completely shoe-less for the entirety of the story.


At the time, in my early stages of consciousness this morning, I didn't consider the fact that its more socially unacceptable to posses the characteristics of a Wookie than to walk barefoot for an extended amount of time; however more so than the strangeness each possessed, the two combined left me feeling like a homeless lurker, roaming the streets in a very well established gated community. Besides every body knows that the only thing worse than a drunk hobo, is a sober one- those are the real crazies.
With the occasional rock stabbing my foot between crosswalks- which didn't bother me as much as you may think it would- I managed to continue making my way towards the gate. I decided to give my girlfriend a wake up call and tell her about my already odd morning and suggest we meet for coffee soon. I don't blame her for not answering; given her circumstances, having the luxury of her own bed to sleep in, I probably wouldn't have picked up either.
"Hey, this is Tayler's cell phone, leave a message and I'll call you back."
As tempted as I was to simply say, "Hey this is Taylers cell phone, I'll leave you a message and you'll call me back." I actually ended up leaving a very long and in depth voice mail for her to wake up to. It consisted of a brief introduction to my morning, probably a lot less brief than it seemed at the time, and my current state of balancing on the edge of the sidewalk as I continue my journey.
"Haha So, here I am walking baref-" .....
I look to my left and entering the gate I am now approaching, is a familiar face pulling into the development. She glances at me with the same expression of disgust and keeps driving. Incidentally, I managed to get distracted from the cliff of a sidewalk I was balancing on and my left foot slips from under me, adjusting my destination straight for the ground. Allowing me to do what most people would call, "Eating Shit." Yes, I figuratively sat down to a nice table, gently used my fork and knife to cut a slice of shit for myself to chew on and swallow... But not literally. No, literally, I fell off of the sidewalk and scraped my knee, but the way I fell reminded me of those old people infomercials, where they wear a special ring with a special button to press in case they've, "fallen and can't get up!" It was THAT kind of fall, a sort of slow, pathetic, collapse.
The remainder of the voice mail was me narrating my commentary on falling, and the humiliation that followed. After a few moments of awkwardness, I concluded the message by saying, "Good morning."