Crisis (Hopefully) Averted

I would like to begin this post by saying that if you don't have parents as awesome as mine, you would be walking around with very calloused feet.

This morning on my walk to school, approximately 25 steps from my starting point, the worst possible thing happened to me: my Chacos broke.

Let's not even consider that I didn't see this coming and cut straight to the devastation. I was shoeless and it was a bad omen to start the day. I continued on my walk to school half muttering, half screaming obscenities to myself about how I am now without my absolute favorite footwear in the world. The best parts about Honduras: I can eat a great meal for less than a dollar and it is always Chaco season.

I show up at school and take a closer examination at my failed foot attire and begin to share my discontent with the other teachers. But there is no time to waste. I have to figure our how to get another pair of Chacos down here.

The funny part is that I had this debate 4 months ago when determining how many pairs to bring down. Hindsight being 20/20 and all I should have just brought them all, but I didn't see as clearly back then. Silly me, I brought my newest pair thinking they would last longer and I wouldn't have any problems. HA! Gotcha sucka! Honduras ruins everything.

Back to damage control. Steph's dad is coming down on Friday, that is just 2 days away so I need to think fast. I decide to call my parents and rush deliver my sandals up to Massachusetts and hope they arrive in time to make it into Steph's dad's baggage.

I called my own father during school but was interrupted too many times by second graders storming the library and then a 1st grade cout d'etat of the computer lab. This does not bode well. So I send an email with all the necessary info to both biological parents in hopes our Balser army can spring to action and my feet don't become gangrenous and fall off. Now I wait. Until I can get home and call home to confirm.

I arrive home to 2 skype voicemails from the greatest mother of all time. First message: Calling Steph's dad to determine feasibility of disaster aide emergency drop. Second Message: No way, Jose.

Depressed and dejected I accept a skype call from dearest mom and she explains her reasoning upon which I begin to tear up. So we continue our conversation for long enough for B-squared (Billy Balser, for the unfamiliar) to walk in the door and immediately come up with a genius plan to go to Fed-Ex right now and, as we say down south, "get 'er done." He springs into action. Just as fast as he came into the skype conversation he was whisked away by his paternal instincts to rescue his young cub.

I feel relieved that I will be getting my Chacos and go to report to Steph about the whole ordeal when I mention a joke my mom made about the street she lived on. Steph laughs, but then replies, "Wait, that is not the name of my street."

Quickly back to the line just in time to catch my dad after he has already dropped off the package. I give him the proper address and hope that it all comes out in the wash. Now I just wait here patiently for my golden slippers.

Way to go Ma and Pop!