The Case of the Wayward Unagi Slipper – A Short Story

I was installing some weather stripping at the bottom of my office door. I was kneeling down on all fours and when I stood up, I realized my Drew left foot house slipper was half off the sole. I had repaired both the right and left slippers numerous times with super glue and so I didn’t want to purchase another $123.00 slipper that needed super glue every month or two. I checked eBay and selected a light-weight slipper for less than twenty dollars including shipping. They arrived two days later and fit my feet. I wear a size 12 shoe. The slipper was available as a size 12 that could actually be an eleven. I ordered the size 13 that would fit a size 12. It fit perfectly.

The second day I had it I prepared for bed and walked into the bedroom, stood by my side of the bed and did a few exercises and then crawled into bed. Hours later I woke up and needed to visit the bathroom. In the dark bedroom I explored with my foot, but only found one slipper. I wore that one to the bathroom and returned to the bed and thought “I’ll look for the other one in the morning.”
When I woke and actually arose again, I saw the one slipper and looked around. I took a broom handle and swept under the bed expecting to find a slipper but got nada. I grabbed a little flashlight and got down on my knees, looked underneath the bed but found no slipper. I checked around my office chair where I usually put on my shoes . . . no slipper. I followed my general path around the house and then upstairs with zero results. I must have echoed the search routine three or four times. I even looked in rooms where I knew I hadn’t been, No results. I asked Peg if she had seen my new slippers and she said, “What new slippers?” So much for that wishful thinking.

In the bedroom I noticed that the bedspread and quilt were down to the floor slightly folded. I pulled up the two coverings and expected to find my slipper, but no, found nothing there. I next started patting down the bed, just in case in a moment of wild abandon, I’d somehow bought an escaping slipper. I hummed the old Nancy Sinatra song, paraphrased for my current adventure, “These slippers are made for walking, and that’s just what I’ll do . . . one of these days these slippers are going to walk away from you . . . and me . . . and everybody else.”

Peg asked, “Do we have mice?” We have crows and deer, but they have their own keys. Mice do not, and we haven’t seen a mouse in the house for decades. I thought, well it could be ants . . . a large army of ants . . . shoulder to shoulder marching away with my slipper. As I patted down near the foot of the bed, I felt a lump. I pulled back the quilts and the sheet to find my errant gray slipper. I slipped into it and proudly walked around the house before putting my normal shoes on.

I think I will name my slippers Unagi . . . because they are slippery as an eel, with a mind of their own, and difficult to catch.