Men, be aware of your shoes. We are judging them.

I know, I know. I'm supposed to spin my fabulous tale of the complimentary oxygen mask - but my Path ride home today was just too good to pass up.

I managed to get a seat (score!) coming home this evening - and even, lucky me, there was an empty seat next to me. Two stops in, a slender, bookish man and a taller, broader business man get on. Bookish sits next to me, Broader across the train. I looked up from my Kindle.

"Oh, do you two want to sit together?"

Bookish shakes his head loosely, and opens his mouth to speak. I can already smell the alcohol. "Thankss, but no." He smiles, pushing up glasses haphazardly. Bookish was in that wonderful early drunk phase, where one doesn't yet realize that when they speak, it sounds as if they are talking through a mouthful of cotton.

I smiled back, then return to my Kindle. A moment passes. Bookish nudges me on the shoulder, a faint lisp appears in his words. "That was sweet of you." Pause. "To offer." Pause. He leans in to me, flicking a wrist towards Broader. "That's my brother. We're just finishing up an argument, but we're fine now."

Broader shakes his head. "Way to tell her too much!" He's tipsy, but not a lightweight like his brother.

I blush for a moment, wondering if indeed they are brothers or actually lovers, and just playing with me. Broader has on wedding ring, I notice. And Bookish does not. Brothers, I decide.

I nod, smile, and go back to my book.

Bookish sighs. "Larry, where are getting off?"

"Third stop."

"Oh." Pause. "Do we have to switch trains?"

"Nope. Look at the map." Broader points upwards.

"Oh, oh, ohhh, I see!" Bookish's voice escalates a bit higher, landing in my own register. "I see....Larry, so we don't have switch trains?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

I should comment that this conversation was not annoying, as one would think, especially since they were talking loudly on a mostly silent (and packed) car. But it was also hardly entertaining. For the moment.

Bookish snorts. "Larry, where'd you get those shoes?"

"Come on." It's clear that Bookish is the fashionista of the family and has commented on this issue before.

"Yess. Those." Bookish's mouth is getting fuller of cotton every moment.

"Linda gave them to me."

"Hm. Linda. I don't care, even if she's a women. Tell Linda I don't approve." Bookish sniffs, then looks at me. "What do you think?"

I look. Black, with a little buckle. Eh, they're fine. "Eh, they're fine," I say.

Broader leans across the way and pumps my hand. "Thank you!"

"Just fine," I add.

"Thankss!!" Bookish exclaims. I smile. He takes this as a sign. "Now, I mean, what is up with men's shoes?" His mouth is basically all cotton now. "Men! Shoes! I mean, Larry, how old are those shoes."

"Four years."

"Pffft! Four years. See, see?" Bookish leans in to me. "Men. They just don't get shoes. The fashion goes out."

I cock my head. "Sometimes fashion comes back."

"Not those kind!!" Bookish pauses, looks at the man next to Broader. "Look at his!" The man politely puts his gym bag in front of his feet. Bookish moves on; he's on a roll. "See that man down there?" he stage whispers to me. The entire train is now fully aware of our conversation. They're trying to hide it, but amused glances bounce our way. "Why is he wearing those? No, no, no. Oh, but those are great. Mmhmm."

The conversation continues. Bookish critiques all of the shoes of the men riding the train. We commiserate how poor their choices are, and discuss the evolution of men's shoes' fashion. He points out that men always put comfort first. I point out that women rarely do. We decide that he should teach a course for men on how to pick shoes. Then we decide that really, if men have already gotten a girlfriend or partner and work in any area other than fashion, they're just fine in comfortable, unfashionable shoes. We triumphantly deliver our verdict to Broader.

He sighs with a smile. "Thanks."

Pause.

"Larry, is this our stop?"

"Yup."

Bookish rises and leans down to me. "Have a good night, hon."

He walks away. I realize that he is wearing flip-flops.