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Dear Man (or Woman) Who Stole My Shoes At Last Night’s Party,

I don’t know who you are, but I have one question. What happened?

When I dusted off my garden brown Blundstones (you are familiar with them) to carry me through last night’s rain, I wish I had known that it would be the last time I got to wear them. Admittedly, they are not a unique pair of shoes and their purchase for me was purely utilitarian. Yet, they have faithfully preserved countless socks for me in these last 11 months and despite my best efforts to be a non-materialistic personality, I have grown quite attached.

“Perhaps,” you say, “this is a lesson in appreciating the simple pleasures before they’re gone.” It really was the little things that made the boot so effective and endearing: waterproof stitching, grippy treads, a neck small enough to fit beneath my pant cuffs, and—I confess—a nice two inches added to my vertical. These are qualities I will be sure to look for in my next pair, but what calloused deity made you the instrument of such judgment? Did Hermes, that trickster god of thieves, not want to wet his feathered feet and covet my Blundstones?

Or maybe it was Dionysus who compelled you. Drinks abounded in last night’s festivities and people have done sillier things whilst under his bawdy influence. You left me a pair of Doc Martens to walk home in which do bear much resemblance to my missing footwear. With dim lighting and mezcal-colored lenses, I can see how you might confuse the two. Is this what happened? Speak to me!

You see, the ritual of removing your shoes when entering an apartment is not common in my home state. I have often joked that the only thing you can get for free in New York City is shoes, provided that you are willing to slip into some apartment hallways on a Friday evening and apply the five-finger discount. In fact, I made this same quip to my buddy last night and now suspect that it was Apollo who heard my joke, decided I have told it too many times, and transformed my jest to prophecy. But, alas, I blame myself too easily, as there are a few questions which you should answer before I take the blame. Gird yourself!

Firstly, I am a size 9 and your shoes are a size 10. If the sizes were reversed, I could see how a drunk man (or woman) might think nothing of a slightly looser shoe. But a tighter shoe? That is harder to understand since you probably struggled to slip them on, especially if you were as inebriated as I want to believe that you were. And even if you got them on without making a scene (I was in the same apartment—albeit a large one— and saw none of the histrionics that would ensue from a drunk wrestling with a heel loop), the boots should’ve cut off your circulation before you reached the subway, which must’ve been terribly uncomfortable and forced you to register your mistake. Nonetheless, you did not turn around.

Why is that?

Secondly, it has been 24 hours since you walked off with my property and no one has received any new information. I live in the same city as you and know for a fact that it rained today, which means that you probably needed rain boots to go outside. I can picture you, sweet you, waking from your slumber as the sunlight shivers through your Brooklinen curtains and irritates your hangover. You partied hard and deserve to have slept in so late—but now the daylight beckons and you need protein with a decent cup of coffee to help you feel like yourself. You roll off the same side of the bed as you always do and throw on your favorite pair of sweat pants before meandering into the living room. You see through the window that it’s raining again, so if you want to make it to the Dunkin’ Donuts comfortably you better get equipped. A raincoat and two tube socks later, you head to the doorway to put on those Doc Martens…

Here.

Right here.

This is where it should happen.

But it didn’t happen.

So, Mr. (or Ms.) Man Who Stole My Shoes At Last Night’s Party… What happened?

Please, help me understand.

I want you to know that I have no ill-will towards you. You have walked a mile in my shoes, and I in yours, so I like to believe that we have an understanding. For better or worse, we are sole mates. Destiny has brought us together and we now walk in each other’s footsteps— far be it from me to hope that you trip or fall!

And the truth is, had you simply asked me for my boots, I would have given them to you… and even now my heart is glad to know that you got home with your feet in an impeccably dry condition. Unfortunately, your boots have seen harder times than mine and were not able to see me home in equal measure. Could this be why you exchanged them? It matters not. I will take care of them for you, just in case. There is still time for you to do the right thing <3.

In tip-toe anticipation,

Bradley