For the past month or so, I’ve woken up every morning with two first thoughts: (1) I really need to get that additional withholding form from HR so that I don’t get hit all at once for hundreds of dollars in excess taxes on my graduate tuition next April; and (2) I need sandals. Because solving the first problem would take five minutes and be free, I chose instead to hop over to the Macy’s in Fulton Street Mall to try to find shoes. B. had warned me about the service, so I took only my best, most patient spirits. And though they were sorely tried at one point when I opened the box I’d been waiting for only to discover, literally, two left feet (You’ll have to find the right shoe yourself, shrugged K., my helpful Macy’s ambassador), I persisted and wore my new sandals back to my cloffice where I broke them in by swinging my feet under my desk, spooning quinoa salad down my gullet.