One of Margaret’s shoes is missing. They are just thrift store flats, but they're cute, comfy, and they go with her dress for the big night.The prime suspect is our dog Shadow, because although she does not chew shoes, she does have a weird habit of carrying a shoe in her mouth each time she goes out to pee. The leaves have fallen and the chances of finding a little shoe in the yard are nil, so I hope it’s in the house somewhere. Now you may wonder why I’m concerned that Margaret have this particular shoe for her adventure. Let’s just say you do not want her to be unhappy with her footwear or to get a blister on the big trip. Nope.
Reminds me of our trip to the Washington Monument this past August. I suggested Margaret wear sneakers and socks, an idea that was met with much scorn. She wore flip flops. After a pleasant trip to the top of the monument, Tim had the audacity to think that at ages 10 and 12, our kids (or I) could handle more than one landmark per DC outing. Silly man.
Against my better judgment, we started walking to the World War II Memorial which was right down the hill, and Margaret started freaking out about the heat, her aching legs, her feet, her… BLISTER! I got pissed, not at her, but at Tim for breaking my “one landmark” rule, and because I’d promised all of us Rocket Popsicles, which were clearly in the opposite direction.
Tim’s neck started to bulge and he yelled at Margaret and me, “Aaaargh! You’re both such... such…” The kids, wide-eyed, implored him to tell them what the next word was going to be, but Tim did not divulge. We were pretty sure it wasn’t a good one.
We hobbled to the memorial, the women-folk definitely not showing the reverence it was due, unless glaring and whining were proper protocol. Tim and Jack ended up walking all the way back to the car on the other side of the mall and picking us up, after Margaret and I had cooled off by the water’s edge.
Tim later told me Jack was great at talking him off the ledge on their long walk to the car. It was a good bonding experience for them as they commiserated, whether with or without words, about the lunacy of their female counterparts. Now lest the boys get off scot-free, I could mention Jack's "My coke is too small mania" in Jamestown last year or Tim's "You are such...such..." outburst in Washington, D.C. Oh yeah, I already did.
Margaret's problem that day was a blister on her foot. My issues are usually the heat, the cold, the humidity level, my bladder, or perhaps blood sugar. Margaret and I liked to think we were doing our part to help prepare Jack for the world of women. The car pulled up, we got in, and all was right in the world. Sans the Rocket Pops, of course. Good times.
Man, I really hope we find that shoe.
