Why I wish to learn Voodoo

This morning, I walked out of the mosque at dawn only to find the usual mass of slippers, sandals and shoes in the alley. Not accustomed to having my sandals dissappear in the mass, I kept looking for my Birkenstocks for a few minutes. The frantic search and the resulting anxiety attack was abated when I located them from afar a few minutes later under someone else's slippers. I put them on, and walked away.

A few hours later, I realised that the insensitive jerk had left a scratch on my brown babies. These sandals have been through excursions into Cootes Paradise, ultimate frisbee games, snow, rain, slush and any other weather system thrown at me by the Arctic winds of Canada. Yet, it was someone wishing to pray Fajr who finally left a scar on my Birks.

I lament this day- henceforth, a forty day grieving period is in effect.

A pox upon the belligerent who has done this to my beloved sandals.