New Kicks.

The other night, Ryan went to bed early. Before I retired for the night, I was cleaning up the casa. I picked up Ryan's shoes and through the soles, I saw the carpet and my cherry red toenails.


He had two holes in his right shoe, both the size of silver dollars.


I burst into tears.


I couldn't believe that he had been going to work for who knows how long with nothing separating his precious feet from the ground but his dress socks.


My heart broke. Here I have been stashing pennies and blabbering on about a new camera and this man, my husband, has holes in his shoes. And he hasn't complained once.


Sometimes we have more in our wallets, sometimes less. But we certainly can always manage soles free of holes.


First thing that next morning, I headed to the 'Rack in search of new soles that would fit Ryan's "boats" (his term, not mine, but I use it as a term of endearment). I wasn't overly hopeful. Ryan's sizes are illusive and always crazy expensive.


I couldn't believe my luck - not only did they have his size but it was also "LARGE SIZE SHOE" day. The perfect fit, the perfect price.


When Ryan got home, I met him at the door with his new kicks. He shot me a knowing smile and tried them on. They fit.


And I was happy once again.