Just get the cheap, grandma ones, you think.

After all, no one will ever see them. They’re just for you to wear around house and if you get the nicer ones with the hard soles you will totally wear them outside of the house accidentally, which would be embarrassing. But there’s no way that will happen with these. You have far too much self-respect to go out in public wearing something that has the word “bedroom” in its name. Of course, you admit, a few years ago that would not have been the case.

As you walk through the florescent-lit aisles with your selection in hand, you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. You think this is a decision coming from that incredibly practical side of yourself, which you rarely see. It feels good to think of yourself as a decent, admirable contributor to society. You ride this feeling, letting it carry you through your daily routine like a bloated dwarf pony.

A few weeks later, you’re standing in line at a gas station, sucking on a 64-ounce diet soda while cradling a carton of Ben and Jerry’s, a box of Hot Tamales, a bag of off-brand pork rinds and a few other things hiding in your arm creases. You can’t help but notice the people around you are dressed up. Well, not dressed up so much as they look like their final destination for the night is not a gas station. Then you realize it’s 8pm on a Friday night and as you’re thinking back to the days when you always had things to do at this time - friends to see, shots to take, bad decisions to make - the girl behind you speaks.

“Are you going to go?”

You turn around and see she’s pointing at the register and the cashier is motioning you to approach. You unlock your mouth from the bucket of soda you’re holding just long enough to burp-speak, “Oh yeah, sorry, my bad.”

You dump your snack feast onto the counter, spilling a handful of Laffy Taffys and snack size Snickers you forgot you were holding onto the ground. The girl behind you bends down to help you pick them up. She’s wearing a gold sequin tank top and black jeans - a style you always wished you could pull off without looking like a guest star on an early episode of Golden Girls - her friend is wearing the same thing just in different colors. They smell like gooey lip-gloss and fake IDs.

“Nice slippers,” she says as she pushes a handful of your calorie-loaded, tooth-rotting candy onto the counter as if it might make her fat just by touching it. Her friend snorts. The cashier sighs. 

You look down and there they are. The cheap, grandma bedroom slippers you thought you had too much self-respect to ever wear in public. The smart, practical buy you rationalized into a sense of pride. Your bloated dwarf pony - now dead beneath you.

“That’ll be $25.64—oops, forgot the ice cream—$29.75, please.” 

You can feel the weight of this gas station binge in the bottom of your unsupported heels, along with every crack and crevasse in the cement floor. The girls laugh again. You start rushing to leave, hoping that will make you seem important instead of pathetic.

“Hold on! Let me get you a bag. That’s a lot to carry,” the cashier says.

Your shame is on full display. You wait for what feels like 100 years as the online college dropout struggles to gather your purchases into a bag and then you walk out.

As you’re getting into your car, your toe skims across a puddle of mystery liquid and a heinous brown stain starts to spread across your felt pink embroidered toe.

You start the car, your regret swelling with the engine. Why, oh why, didn’t you spend the extra $15 to get the slightly more socially acceptable, hard-soled pair of slippers?

It’s not until much later that you realize this is probably the wrong reason to be upset.