Pantuflazapatilla sin orejas ni talón para andar por casa.  Or house shoes in English, pa los que no entiendan.  After a long day’s work there’s nothing better than getting home, kicking off your shoes, and throwing on a pair of pantuflas, especially if it’s cold!  My own have mysteriously disappeared, which I think only means I’ve forgotten where I’ve placed them.  Yet another reminder of how old I’m actually getting.

Literally - Pantuflas!

Aren’t the canas in my hair enough!  I swear every day I look in the mirror in the morning there are more white hairs on my head… y afortunadamente, still hair there too.  So I guess I should not complain too, too much.

Well since it is finally supposed to get cold enough here to actually merit a pair of pantuflas – four days before Christmas Eve at that! – the only thing on my mind now is where my house shoes might have ended up.  That, and according to this picture, also bolillo bread – I came across this image online and thought it was hilarious.  How awesome would a pair of these shoes be?  How soft must they feel?  And then the all too telling personal question, could I resist eating them once I got hungry and didn’t feel like getting up to cook something?  No sé.  Maybe some things ARE better off unsaid, or in our imaginations.

If you want to know the truth, I think I probably would eat my own pantuflas …doused in Valentina sauce of course!