“Have you seen my shoes?”
No, that wasn’t me. I put my shoes away when I take them off.
It was Sue and we were about to leave. I was standing at the door. At times of in-climate weather she might leave her shoes in that area. Often she sheds them near the couch as she raises the foot rest. I surveyed the surroundings…none. Not even a pair that she might not wish to wear for this outing, so I reported: “Nope, they’re not here”. Off Sue went, muttering about just seeing them somewhere. Off I went too. Not physically, but my mind went back to a era when I wasn’t so meticulous about putting stuff where it belonged.
Whenever I’d openly utter such a question as “Where’s my shoes?” my dad would remind me “They’re not my size.” so why would I expect him to know where they were. Mom would ask the obvious; “Where’d you put them?” A mother’s words are often quite irritating in their profound logic.
In my adolescent years, my shoes, shirts, and jackets could be almost anywhere….school, neighbors, our hideout were just about as common a place for me to leave them as any room in our home. But not the closet where they belonged. The closet was a fail-safe. It was the location of back-up shoes in case I couldn’t find the ones I wanted.
My adolescence was pre-NIKE. Actually pre-anything except oxfords or crepe soles. Oh, sure, I had “tennis shoes”. Converse Hightops, but they were for gym floors only. I recall having only 3 pair of shoes which could be worn “outside” — Good, school and play. The trick was to try to get my school shoes past my mom when I couldn’t find my play shoes. I’d strategically wait in my bedroom until she went to the kitchen.
The path from bedroom to front door was out of her line of sight. With the stealth of a lion on the hunt, I’d slink toward escape. From the kitchen “blind”, big-game hunter mom would take aim. More often than not, just about the moment I reached for the front door she’d holler; “You’re not going to wear those shoes to play in.” Shot down in my tracks.
Did I mention how irritating my mom’s profound logic could be.
Back to real time. Sue is still wandering and muttering about where she didn’t leave her shoes. I’m wondering why she doesn’t just go get a different pair. After all, I don’t have my mother’s logic so she could wear most any shoes and I wouldn’t know if they were play shoes or not.
Finally, she returns with a pair of shoes. As she sits to put them on, I inquire about where she finally found them. With a sheepish smirk she answers. “I hate when I can’t find them, and they end up where they belong.” For me, where they belong is rarely a problem. Generally, for Sue, that’s the last place to check. But then, isn’t everything in the last place you’d look for it.