last class...

this afternoon was the last meeting for my seminar class. my professors had us over to their home for the session. in theory, this sounded great. but there was one little glitch that totally made me chuckle...

i got a ride with a classmate of mine (of course -- insert joke here about how emily is a whore for getting rides with people. but not _that_ kind of whore. i totally don't put out. there's a whole derrick bell-ian interest convergence argument i could make about the terms under which i actually put out, but that would be misplaced in this post) and when we got to our professors' house, we immediately saw that just inside the doorway (the foyer? is that what the bourgeoisie call it?*) was a pile of shoes. i.e., this was one of those stocking-feet kind of homes.

now, i'm not totally opposed to this. my brother and i had some awesome friends growing up whose parents had the kind of house in which you couldn't wear shoes. in their defense, the house was gorgeous and old and amazing and you really didn't want your dirty shoes scuffing the place up.

and, in my own home, the first thing i do when i walk in my door is take off my shoes.

but, this was CLASS! and there was NO WARNING AT ALL!!! and i'm a girl with a lot of socks that have holes in them! reasonable notice, people! reasonable notice! we're lawyers, for chrissakes!

and as luck would have it, there was (of course) a hole in my right sock, on the heel. perhaps this was the great evener -- all 14 of us, plus professors, in our unshoed feet -- but i'm down to the bottom of the barrel in the dirty laundry hierarchy of socks these days and it would have been nice to have been able to plan ahead.

good god. why am i thinking so much about socks?!?

*did i seriously just use the term bourgeoisie? i'm so rage-against-the-machine.