For approximately three hours, I had been wearing my Franco Sarto flats with blue socks. In those three hours:
I walked from my house to my car.
I drove to Portland.
I walked three blocks downtown to the PGE offices.
I meandered around the third floor looking for something to do.
I sat at my desk pretending to be working while in actuality I'm reading blogs, checking my email and trying in vain to purchase tickets to the Dead Sea Scroll exhibit.
I tested my blood sugar only to discover I was 445 mg/dl (I think I tried to bolus for breakfast before I actually reconnected after taking a shower... oops).
I drank an entire can of soda in 3 minutes.
I got up and walked through the cubicle to the bathroom.
That is the point when I felt something funny in my shoe. A pebble from the street? Some strange sticky thing from my bedroom floor now clinging to the bottom of my sock?
I take off the shoe. There's nothing inside.
I examine the bottom of my foot. A blue sock is all I see.
I put the shoe back on. I can still feel it. I take the shoe back off again.
I feel the bottom of my foot.
There's some hard. Rectangular. Small.
In my horror, I stick my hand into my stock and retrieve a tiny blood glucose test strip that has been inside my sock all morning.
In The Sock.
And I thought the Broken Printer Incident was bad.