Two wrong feet

I step outside the door to start my day and I can't help but be a little positive that it's going to be a great day; and why shouldn't it be a great day? It's early morning, the sun has yet to show it's bright, shiny face. And for once I am on time for the early morning commute to work . . . on public transportation no less. I love public transportation!

The work day goes on as expected: phone calls, paper work, 1st break; phone calls, paper work, lunch break; phone calls, paper work, 2nd break; phone calls, paper work, work day is over. I'm back on the bus for the long ride home. No worries though, because the bus isn't crowded and I get my usual seat. I take out my book to read and before I know it the bus is pulling up to my stop.

It's a short walk from the bus to my front door. Ah, the front door. Nearly 12 hours later and I am at the doorstep of where my entire day began, my front door. I'm relieved . . . that emotion is soon followed by the feeling of mortification because I now realize that I have been walking around with two different slippers on my feet.