This may well be the first and last in a series of tiny stories inspired by a simple typo or misspelling in the first sentence. I think this is a fun concept for a writing prompt exercise.
Jeremy's shoelaces were united. Increasing numbers of shoes were being admitted to the rack with elastic top-lines and Velcro straps, especially the lower sizes. The shoelaces had put up with slippers for years, they had been laceless since before anyone could remember, but now even among the old leather shoes there were more slip-ons than lace-ups. The ratio of laced to laceless was now firmly in favour of the latter, and the trend foretold the eventual decline of their race. It was time for action. The venerable laces of the Dr Marten's boots, being the longest, thread through the shiniest eyelets, and having the least corrupted aglets, stepped forward and assumed command. The laces stood together beneath him on the rack. They did not yet have a plan, but for the first time they had faith that they would prevail.