The Shoe in the Road

We've all seen it. The shoe lying by the side of the road. From what I've observed, it's almost always a tennis shoe or a flip flop, and it's invariably without its mate. It's a curious thing, that shoe, and one can't help but wonder what it's doing there, all dilapated, worn, ashamed.

Today, though, something a little more interesting caught my eye. Oh, it was on the same theme--a single shoe on the road--but there was something a bit more intriguing about this one. As I was driving home from work on a big, fat, well-traveled highway, I saw--sitting in the middle of the road, mind you, not politely by the side--one very new, shiny, patent leathery, black woman's boot. Not a work boot or a nice flat-heeled-yet-still-passably-fashionable boot. Nope--this was the stuff of dominatrix fantasies. It was a spiky-heeled, pointy-toed, get-your-whip-out-and-beat-me-til-I-cry boot.

So. In the 1.8 seconds that I had to take all of this in, my mind became a veritable playground of possible scenarios for how that boot got there. Can you imagine? How does one stripper boot find its way into the center of a highway? I found myself imagining...

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"Honey, I'd love to lick your toes while we're on our way to the World Conference of Hot Dominatrices. Maybe the extra practice will give us a boost in the Subservient Competition. I will not be robbed of my title of Most Whimpering Male like we were last year. I still think John cheated. No one can cry for that long."

"Sure, sweetheart, just let me get this pesky boot off." (sound of boot being pulled off) "Ooh, baby, that's nice, yeah, I think this year we're gonna get that crown...hold on, this spiky heel is stuck right in my back..." (sound of grunting as boot is removed from back, then tossed aside. The next sound we hear is the unfortunate thwack, thwack, thwack of the boot hitting the highway)

"Shit!

"What's wrong, baby doll?"

"Better just turn around and head for home, Leroy. Looks like we're out of the competition."

Or how about this (insert redneck southern male voice here):

"Gawdammit, woman, I will not have you workin' as a pole dancer now that yer my wife! You know I tole you that in Vegas!"

"Jethro, for the good lawd's sake, you met me at a titty bar in Vegas! How do you expect me to make my living now?"

"Shut up, woman, and give me them damn boots! I said, gimme 'em!" (sound of struggle ensues while truck swerves all over three lanes of traffic)

"There! Now you just watch this... (we hear the sound of a window rolling down) You see that?? You see that, woman? Yer mine now. You got no boots. You cain't dance."

"Idiot. You only got one boot, which means I still got...let's see...yeah, I still got one boot left. You know what that means, asshole? That means I can still dance!"

"Shut up, woman. You turn me on."

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Okay, so now you know a little more than you'd probably like about the inner recesses of my imagination. I'm sorry. Hey, in my defense, it's a long drive. I get bored. Too much Amy Goodman can do that to a person.