Crossing the line with other people's shoes.

Good morning!

There is an old adage that says, "There is a fine line between love and hate."  I know this line all too well.

It is well documented how I feel about shoes. However, there is a dark side to my love of footwear.  Other people's shoes.  More specifically, other people's shoes lying around my house.

Moms know exactly what I mean about this.  There are four people living in my house.  Since forever, there have only ever been four people living in my house.  Yet, on any given day, there are no less that seven pairs of shoes strewn about the living room, looking like passed out revelers after a three day drunk.  Sideways, askew, and generally not even close to their mates, these shoes clutter up the one room I care about.  It's as if the Rockettes did a routine in my living room wearing sports shoes.

And don't even get me started on the smell.  Hey, I have stinky sports shoes, too.  Which is why I put my shoes in my room, or, on very rare occasions, in the front hallway where they stand, side by side, ready for a quick escape.  But the other three people who live in my house kick off their shoes with a wild sense of abandon. 

 

But that's not the worst.  The real kicker...get it, kicker, hah...is that then these loose shoed people have the AUDACITY to wander around the house in the morning, asking ME where THEIR SHOES ARE!

This has gone on since the day Skippy put on his first pair of Brown Shoes.  I've been tripping over shoes for almost 17 years.  There were times, many of them, when I tried to clean up this crime by simply hiding the shoes.  Hey, it's fair, right?  You leave them in my room, I'm going to hide them.

My dear friend, Marie, informed me that that was cruel.  So I stopped.

I 'll be honest, I'm not as nice as Marie.  I still want to hide shoes.  Especially since, now that the children are teens, they blame me for hiding their shoes anyway.  So I get the blame, but not the fun.

Seriously, this is an actual conversation I had with Skippy last week.  Bear in mind, this conversation was held at 6:45 AM, when everyone is late for everything  (picture, if you will, the morning scenes from ABC's "The Middle."  Yep, that's us.)  and I am at that time of day when I have to decide if I have enough time for a shower before work or not.

Skippy:  Where are my shoes?

Sarah:  There are  three pairs of your shoes in the living room.

Skippy:  None of them is my black pair.

Sarah:  Well, I don't know...I don't touch your shoes.  They are where you left them.

Skippy:  No, because then I'd know where they are.  So where did you put my shoes?

Sarah:  I didn't touch them.  Have you looked in the living room?

Skippy: Yes, like four times.  And I'm late, so if I'm late for school it's your fault.

Sarah:  So wear one of the other three pairs.

Skippy:  I need to wear my black shoes.

Sarah:  (Dropping everything to search for the shoes.)  Here they are, under the blanket you threw on the floor last night when you went to bed.

Skippy:  You put them there.

Sarah:  I don't have that kind of time or energy in my day.

Skippy:  Whatever.

Mom:  You wouldn't be in this predicament if you'd keep your shoes in your room.

Skippy:  (unintelligible muttering as he slams the front door.)

Hubby:  Have you seen my black work shoes?

Friends, I've tried designating a spot in the front hall for shoes.  I even put a basket by the front door for a while...that seems to work for a lot of people.  But no, my family would rather go throw Shoe Drama Theater on a daily basis than actually put their shoes in one spot.  I wouldn't even care if that spot was dead in the middle of the livingroom.  At least there'd be some vague sense of thought in that. 



 I have a tendency to walk through the house late at night or in the early mornings, either ending my day or starting it, in the dark.  I'm sort of like a bat, I can navigate easily.  However, I cannot count the times I've tripped over a shoe and then fallen.  And now that we have a cat, trying to avoid stepping on the cat while not tripping over shoes has tested whatever acrobatic talent I have.  (Which, if you read this blog, you know I don't have.)

There's fine line between love and hate.  And I know I'm supposed to love the shoe flinger, and hate the shoe flinging instead, but honestly, this is a test of my patience.  No, I won't revert again to hiding shoes.  When I finally do snap, I'll do something big...big and noisy and probably something that involves fire.

So that's something to look forward to  I guess.



This level of organization and peace in the Middle East.
Two things that aren't going to happen.