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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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August /
September 2006 Contest Results |
Pimp My
Sneakers
By Gale
Martin, Pennsylvania
Last spring, I
needed a pair of tennis shoes, real tennis shoes, for real tennis. See,
I had lofty plans to meet another middle-aged mom to revive my game and
to experience midlife renewal on Saturday mornings.
I needed new tennies, but baby also needed a new pair of pumps for the
prom. So guess who subjugated her desire for new athletic footwear?
That is until I spotted a nifty pair on sale at my favorite shoe outlet.
For a measly ten bucks, I became the proud owner of the most pimped-out
pair of tennis shoes this side of Wimbledon.
Each shoe features eight gold embroidered tennis balls; seven silver and
gold embroidered racquets (What a fashion faux pas! Besides 'Don't wear
white after Labor Day,' my mother said never to mix gold with silver in
an ensemble); two embossed red blobs which were either blood droplets or
chafed testicles; the word "TENNIS" embroidered in gold then outlined
in black; one green oval with a tail that looks like the Catholic fish
symbol which Protestants have now conscripted into use; two gold lamé
laces; one line-art net; and a partridge in a pear tree.
Upon returning home, I immediately stuffed them in a canvas shoe holder
in my closet where they sat for three weeks straight.
Lest you think I had not put them to good use, think again. Each time I
opened my closet door before the sun came up, those sneakers illuminated
my wardrobe choices without turning on the light and waking up my
husband.
I decided that my sneakers and I needed a public life. So I donned my
truly tasteless sneakers to school during Fitness Week. I realized how
hideous these shoes were when a seventh grader who wears more bling than
Jacob Marley sighted my feet glowing in the hallway from half a city
block away and gave me a hollah.
"Yo, Mrs. M.! Those shoes are bangin'."
She noticed my footwear before she noticed my Allen Iverson jersey and
backwards Sixers' cap.
That's some powerful sneaker mojo workin'.
I have decided to wear them in public, unapologetically. I'll start this
morning with my orthodontist, documenting the feedback I receive, such
as how long it takes adults to notice them versus children. Then I'll
record all comments and create a pie graph with a really colorful
legend. Plus, if people are looking at the metallica on my feet, they
are less likely to notice it in my mouth. We forty-somethings with
braces don't really want people to notice we have enough metal in our
mouths to tune in A Prairie Home Companion.
You might be asking why? Why not just go play a match with the things?
As it so happens, I am recovering from a silly hip accident, a casualty
of Fitness Week. I dislocated it leading an aerobics challenge with my
eighth graders. So, until my hip fully recovers, this is how I am
gleaning the value out of my ten dollar expenditure.
In the meantime, I plan to scour the outlets for other pimped-out
apparel to wear courtside.
If I can't dazzle them with my serve, blinding my opponents with flashy
garb will have to serve.
http://lespiritdescalier.blogspot.com
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