(Frantic and talkative, rushed voice, paces back and forth, irregular breathing) Oh my goodness. There is a banquet in five and a half minutes and I don’t know where my shoes are. I was talking to Tracy the other day about how I actually didn’t like shoes and I didn’t understand what the fuss was about shoes, when it hit me—I had no shoes to go to the banquet! Well, usually I wouldn’t care about something like that and I’d probably wear my dirt colored, but actually pink floppy flip flops with the holes in them, but this time was different. This time I did care. Because he would be there. And Mikey definitely has a shoe fetish. He wears a different pair of shoes everyday, sometimes a different kind of shoe on each foot. Sometimes he even wears shoes on his hands because he likes to impersonate what a dog might be like if he tried to run for track. People don’t understand that boy really, but I do and I just want him to be happy. The need to impersonate others to him is great. I mean one time he acted like he was drunk just to impersonate Dean Martin. But everyone else was wasted too, so they thought he was just acting like a normal wasted alchy. Of course that sent him over the edge and made him crave attention, so he started making shoe puppets instead. (Motions puppets with hands, looks at “puppet” hands as if in admiration) And his shoe puppets are always made of the best kind of shoes. The really expensive kind with the thick laces and shiny leather or suede, depending on the weather. And it can’t be a knock-off. Knock-off shoes are an insult to him and his character. If his father tried to give him $20 shoes, my crush would probably burn them and relish in watching them die. His minimum price is $250 per shoe. Nothing but the best for my Mikey. And the only reason he lets me even call him Mikey that is because I saved up for years to give him $1000 to buy new shoes. Usually, he goes by Gregory. I thought Mikey was a much better name, so I made sure to tell him that while I gave him his new shoes, so he wouldn’t be so angry that I refused to call him Gregory. He told me he didn’t really get where “Mikey” came from since it’s not in his name at all, but I told him that I call everyone that I’m secretly in love with Mikey. He didn’t take the hint though because he was too busy polishing his new shoes to actually listen to me. (Paces back in forth, even more frantically) But enough about him; let’s talk about me and my dilemma. Where are my damn shoes?!?! I bought them to show Mikey because I know that when he looks at a woman, the first thing he notices are her shoes. And ratty dirt-colored but actually pink flip flops just won’t cut it. The shoes I bought with my own money were very special shoes; they had a remote control that came with them that gave them the option to be invisible. (Irritated tone) Now, why I would want invisible shoes I have no idea, but they sounded really good at the time. So, the first time I tried it out, I left my shoes in the kitchen and went into the living room to turn on the remote control. Little did I know, when I pressed the button on the remote control, the remote control became invisible too!! (Sarcasm) Oh, that was just fantastic. Then, all of the sudden, I couldn’t feel it in my hands anymore. I searched and I searched for that remote control. I felt around for that damn thing, but I couldn’t find it. It had disappeared. So, naturally I became very upset, sprinted to the kitchen with bare, stubbly toes and alas—my shoes were gone. The shoes I had sold my sole to (points to soles of feet) and man did they hurt my feet! Those blisters had to be bigger than caterpillars! I searched once more—nowhere to be found. I was a dumbass. Why did I have to press that damn button? So, now here I am, the banquet is in two minutes and—NO!! (burst of screaming energy) I CAN’T GO!! I can’t let Mikey see me shoeless! It’s embarrassing! I can’t go! I can’t… (Sobs followed by a pause) …I just wish…I just wish I could find my shoes. Where did they go? How did they disappear? I’m looking everywhere for them…. EVERYWHERE!!! (Moves quickly with broad, swift motions) Under my coffee cup, beneath my dishtowel, behind my picture frame, next to my broken vase… (Frantic) If I don’t find those shoes I will kill myself, I swear! KILL MYSELF!! (Shakes violently) I need a gun for that, but this place doesn’t allow guns…I might be able to use a knife, but they don’t allow knives either… Excuse me, excuse me, nurse! I NEED A KNIFE!!! I NEED IT TO UMMM…CUT MY STEAK!!! ..Damn it, I don’t even have steak in front of me…I don’t even eat steak...It’s too tough… (A needle shoots inside her) AHHHH! OWWWW!! Why’d you do that for? I…NOOOOO!!! I CAN’T go back there!!!! I need to find my shoes! I need to find my shoes!!! I NEED TO FIND MY SHOES!!!!!!!!! I’M NOT CRAZY!!!!! THE BANQUET IS IN THIRTY-THREE SECONDS!!!! HELP ME!!! HELP… (Falls to the ground, swallows a pill, voice suddenly grows quieter) me… (Breathes in and out, wipes tears, calms herself) Ahhhh…(Yawns) (Slowly rises, looks out the window) Good morning clouds. (Peaceful yawn) It’s a wonderful day outside…