These great little cones are all over the place, except where I needed it Friday night. I stopped over to a friend's house on Galena Road. She hadn't been home since noon and it was dark at this point. She got there a few minutes ahead of me, but not enough time to warn me. I pulled up and started walking down her driveway, which has a fairly steep incline. Of course I have 5 inch heels on and after one step I realized I would never make it down the driveway in those shoes without breaking my face. So, I took my shoes off. One bare step further and a quishy sound and a wet something between my toes immediately registered as wet tar. Because I was on this incline, my squishy step turned into a whole foot slip resulting in a fabulous and less than graceful fall on my part. After pulling myself up from the muck I worked my way toward her door. I stood outside and yelled something loud and unladylike. She opened the door and, after gasping in horror at my new dark outfit, she moved aside and I caught a glimpse of her floor. Apparently she had walked through the whole house in her shoes, unaware of the sticky culprit covering the bottom of them.
So, after the wreckage of her floor and carpet and some new adornments on my purse and shoes, the question remains. Dear Landlord of my friend, where were the cones? At least a notification this was being done would be nice. Perhaps the need for a courtesy call will register now that her carpet needs to be replaced. Sincerely, your tenant and her black fingernailed friend.