Return of the Hobbit

Once upon a time, there was a teenager who desperately wanted a pair of Birkenstocks. She begged and pleaded and finally convinced her mother to spring for them.

 
 They were everything she hoped for, even if they did make her look like she had hobbit feet. The girl wore them nearly every day in college, got new heels put on twice, and a full resole at some point because she plum wore 'em out. Then she graduated and had to abandon the Birks for proper office shoes. It was a sad day. One ended up under a dresser, and the other disappeared into the mists of time.

Until a gallant knight, wielding a Shop-Vac and arms of steel, lifted the mattress and box spring off the frame. Lo! The lost Birkenstock! The trio were reunited, and tears of joy were shed.

Seriously, though, M. cleaned under furniture in our bedroom last night (holy dust bunnies the size of my 34-week pregnant belly, Batman!) and unearthed several individual shoes that together made up 4 pairs. Only one of them fits now, the Birkenstocks, but really, that's all I care about. I love them, I missed them, I welcome them back with open arms.