Thursday, February 5, 2009

Shoebox.

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There's a little Shoebox under my bed. It's made of cheap composite cardboard. A simple mass produced box made for temporary storage.

Over the years, dust had has gathered, and anchored itself into the once smooth surface of the lid; rendering it like poorly kept velvet. One corner has been crumpled by a heavy landing. Another corner in perfect condition; but has been tainted by the recent floods.


It's not a very exciting shoebox. It's construction is simple. A rectangular shoebox, three quarter's it's length making it's width. Everything is double layered for durability and strength. The base is cut to be collapsible for easy shipment. The lid is simple. It's merely the same rectangular shape, just a tad larger in both length and width, and exactly one eighth of it's base in height. The lid is double layered too.

The entire shoebox is tied with a long piece of decorative ribbon. The sight of this ribbon will remind you of Christmas. It's base colour is red, with a centre of green running through , and two gold stripes running parallel beside it.

The ribbon is actually tied quite affectionately to the battered old shoebox. The ribbon is first balanced at the top, carefully aligned at the centre. The two ends then drape over the sides, and converge against each other at the base. Once the full length of the ribbon has past each other they are twisted together: one heading north, one heading south; using each other as an anchoring point. The ribbon then runs back up to top, and runs under the starting point, meeting it at ninety degrees. Then, and only then, does the ribbon form into a bow. Where the two loops are larger than the ends; where the left loop is seventeen percent larger than the loop on the right.

There's nothing too important in the Shoebox. But it cannot be lost.
There's nothing too delicate in the Shoebox. But it must not be damaged.

There's nothing too embarrassing in the Shoebox. But it cannot be shown with pride.
There's nothing in. The Shoebox.

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