Sorry, B.
/
First year of marriage. One of our many arguments. Probably about who did more work around our teeny-tiny apartment.
Oh brother.
All of a sudden I hear something zing past my ear, flying down the hall. Was that a . . . shoe?
And then he said, "AND WOULD YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT ALL THOSE SHOES LYING ALL OVER THE PLACE?!?!"
I admit it. I have a small, very small, itty-bitty problem with shoes. I love 'em.
Call me Imelda. I can never have enough.
But today I realized that 24 years after that first shoe argument, I still haven't changed. I still leave my shoes all over the house.
Here's what I found when I got home this morning.
This pair in the kitchen.
This pair by the front door.
This pair by the chair in the family room.
And this pair by the stairs.
Oh brother.
All of a sudden I hear something zing past my ear, flying down the hall. Was that a . . . shoe?
And then he said, "AND WOULD YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT ALL THOSE SHOES LYING ALL OVER THE PLACE?!?!"
I admit it. I have a small, very small, itty-bitty problem with shoes. I love 'em.
Call me Imelda. I can never have enough.
But today I realized that 24 years after that first shoe argument, I still haven't changed. I still leave my shoes all over the house.
Here's what I found when I got home this morning.
This pair in the kitchen.
This pair by the front door.
This pair by the chair in the family room.
And this pair by the stairs.
Sorry, B. I can't seem to help myself.
