Alliterative procrastination alleviates predicament

Burt's Eye View

Terry and I hurried to get gussied up for an event we really didn’t want to attend. We’d putzed and procrastinated until we couldn’t putter around anymore. There was nothing left to do but dress and go, like it or not.

“I guess I better get my shoes.” She sighed. “Have you ever noticed that everything you put on your foot starts with the letter S?”

“Not really. Grab me a pair of socks.”

“See?” She flopped on the couch, kicked off her slippers, and wiggled her toes. “Shoes. Socks. Slippers. They start with S.”

“But my tennis shoes…”

“You mean your sneakers?”

“OK, sneakers, then.” I nodded. “Another S slips onto the ol’ soft soles.”

“Then there are sandals.”

“I thought sandals were called flip-flops now.”

“Oh, sandals have lots of names and styles, like espadrilles. But they’re all sandals.”

“Is that so?” I rocked a bit in my easy chair. “Then I suppose we better come up with another name for boots. I’m not a professional English teacher, but I’m pretty sure boots don’t start with S.”

Terry leaned into the couch and pondered. “Well… Boots ends with an S.”

“Not a singular boot.”

“Why would you wear just one boot? Do you plan to hop in mud puddles like a stork?” Her brow furrowed for a few seconds. “We could call them stork stompers.”

“It’s better than galoshes, I suppose. The S sort of sags toward the back of a galosh.” I wondered what time it was getting to be. How awful it would be to miss this excruciating obligation. “We better step on it.”

Terry sat up. “Ah ha! It’s not just what we put on our feet, it’s what we do with them after they’re shod. Those are all S words, too.”

“Surely, not all of them.”

“A sackful, then.” She ticked words off on her fingers. “We step, stroll, saunter, spring, stride, scurry and scamper. S, S, S, S, S, S, S.”

“You sound like a snake.” I rubbed my chin. “But I sense a story here.”

“A story?”

“Exactly. Try this on for size: Skip, scramble, slippery slope, slide, smash, shatter, ‘smergency.”


“I couldn’t think of an S word for summoning an ambulance.” I sighed and lifted myself from the soft cushions. “Seriously, though, the time. If we’re going to get to that tedious task, we better grab our hats and go or we’ll miss it altogether.”

Terry jumped up. “Hat. There’s another one. Everything we put on our heads begins with H.”


“Oh, heartily. We wear hats, hoods and helmets. Hard hats and head scarves.”

“What about a bandana? Lots of hairless guys wear bandanas on their heads.”

“Those are hankies.”

I sat again. “I wonder who has the hype on hankies for the head? Can you hit up your haberdasher?”

“I would hope so. He can also recommend a suit. Yes, suit starts with S, but don’t slap it onto your foot.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be well-heeled,” I said.

“I thought H was for the head?”

I shook my head — no heels fell off — and glanced at the clock. “Oh, no! Once again, time scooted away and now we can’t go to that awful event.” I smiled. “What shall we do now?”

We sloshed our feet into soothing soakers. ‘Sbliss.

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