The other night after dinner, I stepped outside to find my slippers for the walk home. There were more than 20 pairs of slippers parked outside the dining lodge. I gazed at them for a few seconds before panic set in. None of them were mine! How was I going to get home?

Oh sure, I know I could have just walked the 500 feet barefoot. But I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I found my slippers! Matt, the chef recently lost his new Birkenstocks when someone put them on by mistake and then left the island early the next day.

As my anxiety grew, I realized it was identical to the feeling I had years ago when my brother and I went to the Mall in Carlisle, Pennsylvania and lost my car. We paced the lot helplessly scanning the sea of metal before remembering we had left the car at home and walked.

Likewise, on this particular night, it finally occurred to me that I had parked my slippers outside the kitchen door. Relieved, I ran back up the steps and around to the kitchen, put on my slippers and walked home.

By Camille Armantrout

Camille lives with her soul mate Bob in the back woods of central North Carolina where she hikes, gardens, cooks, and writes.

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