Shoes

I'm a girl who likes her shoes. I have two daughters who are following in my footsteps. Between the three of us we have alot - of - shoes.


Brian constantly makes fun of me for the amount of shoes I have. I keep telling him that you DO need several pair of black shoes, because each pair has a different purpose and he still doesn't get it. And the girls need sneakers, crocs, brown dress shoes, brown play shoes, black dress shoes, black play shoes, a spare set of sneakers, flip flops (numerous pair to match their outfits) and several pair of sandals, along with back and brown dress boots, snow boots...you get my point.


The problem with this is that we each wear a different pair of shoes almost every day. And, my children take off their shoes when they get home and leave them. If they take off their shoes in the middle of the floor, well then that's where they stay. I can't yell at them too much. They get it from me.

This plethora of shoes in the family room, kitchen, dining room, etc., drives Brian crazy. He's constantly complaining about how many shoes we have and how we all leave them wherever we happen to take them off. Whatever - get over it.


He has taken to piling them on the stairs in a feeble attempt to get his girls (which includes me) to return them to their rightful place in the closet. This works for him because they are no longer strewn about the floor and have at least made it halfway to where they belong.

The problem with this is that there is now a pile of about 10 pair on the stairs. This doesn't present a problem though, because I can dodge them as I go up.

Unless it's dark.

Like it was last night.

As I climbed the stairs after we had locked up and turned the lights off, I stepped on a cute little pink Croc. And proceeded to fall on my face. On the stairs. And then slide down.

I lay there completely silent, hoping, that my hubby didn't see anything (it was dark after all and he was a room away) and trying to catch my breath. And then I heard him, trying desperately not to guffaw and asking me if I was OK. I grunted, but still didn't move. To which he responded "I'm sorry, baby, but that was funny! I told you pick up your shoes"

And he was right. But, whatever.

I stifled my giggles (it was funny) and limped up the stairs nursing a bruised shin, swearing to myself that I would get those shoes off the stairs first thing in the morning.

But they're still there. I think I'll just wait until the girls and I have emptied our closets of shoes before I put them all away.

I just won't go up the stairs in the dark anymore. Problem solved!