Deja Shoe, Two

I'm actually looking at my shoes, Brown Shoes, from Italy, in great admiration. They are the perfect marriage of business and granola. I imagine that when the dentist walks in, he will look at my shoes and ask me, 'Those look comfortable. What are they?'

I even plan my answer. 'They're Brown Shoes, from Italy.'

Then, a tall, teenage looking kid, with a soul patch, walks in and says, 'Whoa!'

The next part is true.

He lifts his right leg, and extends his foot so that it is level with my own. And he's wearing the exact same shoe.

'Nice shoes!'

I look at him, and the first thought that enters my mind is not, 'Wow! What a coincidence! Go ahead and practice your 'They're Brown Shoes, from Italy' dialogue.' No, the first thought that enters my mind is, 'Who the hell is this? Isn't dental assistant Number 2 supposed to be hot? Don't tell me this guy is going to be sticking his fingers in my mouth.'

'I'm Trevor!' he extends a 'cool' handshake, you know, the one where the elbow flares out high and to the right, the hand dives in from above. 'I'm your dentist!'

I shake his hand. And remarkably, I'm still thinking, 'Don't tell me this guy is going to be sticking his fingers in my mouth.'

Honestly, it was only much later that I was even struck by the fact that we were wearing the same shoes. And that I had foreseen a shoe conversation, and even planned a dialogue. It was like, deja shoe.