I need to verify this, but it is entirely possible that somewhere between my French class and the Fullerton stop, I lost, mislaid, or was relieved of a bag of shoes.

Ironically, I had carted one pair, a soft shiny set of heels, downtown to get them fixed. The repair shop told me they were unfixable. So they were heading home to take their place among the things I don't know what to do with but don't want to throw away.

The other pair, a pair of loafers purchased at an outlet mall in Florida, had been living in my desk drawer at work for some time. I had looked for them this morning and decided to bring them home.

It's possible they (the two pairs of shoes) made a break for it. I admit I was pretty distracted and not paying attention like I should have been. So now they're out there on their own, chrome wheeled, fuel injected and steppin out over the line. Maybe.

Who wants to call the CTA's Lost and Found for me and inquire if anyone turned in a bag of shoes? Come home, guys, all is forgiven.

* Skeptics may suggest that this title should simply read "Why I Need a Mind."