A sneaker is just . . . a sneaker

My old sneaks were worn out. I had already ripped out the lining of the insole on one of them, and I was coming through the toes. I was wearing my work clothes Tuesday, with my black leather, low heeled, trouser pumps, when Timmy and I stopped at a local self-service shoe store. All the Chuck Taylor Hi-Tops they had there were in boring colors, so Timmy wasn't interested. I thought I would try to find myself some new white sneaks. I had some black ones, but needed the white ones. This is a bigger deal than you might imagine. I wear a women's size 12. My motto is that if I find a pair of shoes that fits, is not horrible, and is on sale, I buy it. If I have to find something specific, I often have to pay big bucks.

Anyway, with a little help, I found some size 12 Nike's. Cool. I put them on, put the work shoes in the box, and flashed the plastic.

One thing I really hate about sneakers these days is the laces:

Whatever happened to plain, flat, cotton shoelaces? These things, when they fail, fail spectacularly. They frizz out and are useless. It seems to me the old-fashioned kind lasted longer. If they wore out, they just broke, and you could see it coming. I think those "seams" on the edges aren't even sewn, just melted. They also don't stay tied unless you double-knot them as you would for a child. So, I switched laces. I had gotten some better laces for my old shoes, and they were still in good shape.

While I was changing laces, I noticed something:

After about two and a half years, and without intending to do it, I bought the same shoes.