Honored Members of the FLO-

I am throwing myself at your mercy, unconditionally, without apology.

I want my purple Croc shoe back. The right one. I know you have it.

It's not *anywhere* in the house. It's not in the attic. It's not in
any of my four closets, I even checked behind the water heater. It's
not under my bed. It's not under either the yellow or the velvety
green sofa. It's not under the rocking chair, or the dog's velvety
green armchair. It's not under the dining area table and four chairs.
I checked all of those places, and I sent my small nephew to look
under all of those places with a flashlight. (He fit better than I
did, although he was easily distracted from the task.)

It's not under the computer desk. It's not under the sideboard, or my
Victorian fold-down writing desk with the green felt inside. It's not
under my antique card table. It's not under my wind-up phonograph. It
is not behind any of my three antique radios. It is not behind any of
my bookcases. It is not behind my grandmother's china cabinet.

It's not *here*. Not in any way that I understand the term *here*. Oh,
maybe in a set of nesting quantum universes there are spare purple
right Croc shoes tucked out of sight in all of the locations that I
have searched in *this* universe. Then again, following my atmittedly
shaky understanding of quantum mechanics, the shoe might actually *be*
in the house in a potential state of existence that won't be actualized
until the moment someone observes it. Like me. I'd very much like to
observe my missing right purple Croc shoe. Right about *amn now, as a
matter of fact.

The one spare purple Croc shoe left to me is dimpled all over with 
tiny ferret fang holes. The upper, the toe, the sole, the heel, the
strap. I can deal with that. But I want a *pair* of these shoes, once
again. They are admittedly ugly, *ugly* shoes, but they are superbly
comfortable. They float. You can wash them in the dishwasher. They
never get soggy. They do indeed put a bounce in my step.

Please. Send it back. I really miss it. Surely there must be some small
service I can perform for your orginizartion to its benefit, and to
mine. A collaboration of sorts that would interest us mutually.

Please just consider the possibility. There are many services which I
might render unto weasels were I properly shod, and not now thumping
resentfully about in ill-fitting chore boots, sounding like a restive
Capitain Ahab belowdecks, dragging my Nantuckett Whale-Bone
stump...thud...thud....thud...thud...

Please, let me have my *amned purple rubber shoe!

Alexandra in MA
Todd:("Snicker-snicker-snicker!") 

[Posted in FML 6304]