Place strategy

Humble pie has its place on the menu this week | News, Sports, Jobs

I had an extra helping of humble pie last week.

I was accusing the two people I share my house with (Herald the Cat was exonerated) of doing something with the pair of black sandals I keep under the kitchen step.

They were there one minute and suddenly gone the next.

Once I noticed their absence, I wasn’t sure when I last saw them.

All I knew was that they weren’t on my feet.

They were nowhere in sight.

They were nowhere.

I was sure a conspiracy was “walk,” no pun intended.

These sandals are important to have around and available and not just for me.

When we have to go to the garage, for example, these one-size-fits-all sandals (sort of) come in very handy when one of us has to break down and make that long trip from the kitchen, down the stairs through the hall room (if not clean it’s spelled wreck room), past the cute utility room, up another flight of stairs to cross the breezeway and into the garage where, because we live in this country plenty, we don’t have any, but two refrigerators, one there for overflow and excess gallons of milk, soda, water, etc.

Seems like many miles to maneuver in the name of staying hydrated and happy, certainly not a trip for bare feet or for us in socks only “the souls” so we all rely on these black sandals to wear best to travel on these missions as we must.

I complained about the missing sandals as much as I spent the energy looking for them – which consisted of checking under beds, behind doors, in closets, etc.

Where are they?

It wasn’t my fault here because I always put everything in its place – everything in its place, right?

The process of elimination was my strategy.

“Are you sure you haven’t used them and taken them somewhere, left them somewhere, maybe?” I won’t be mad – just confess” I grilled my son Adam, who claimed his innocence.

I believed him, but I was more in the market for a George Washington confessing that he cut down another cherry tree.

Better Half have worn these sandals a time or two.

He was looking for suspicious shoes.

“I can’t believe these sandals haven’t arrived yet” I innocently told him at dinner one night about five or more days after they got up and decided to play hide and seek.

The silence.

“It seems really strange that they just left,” I added.

More silence.

“Are you sure you haven’t put them somewhere?” I asked him, giving him the chance to tell the truth and plead guilty.

He looked up from his pasta and stopped sprinkling garlic salt long enough to feign moderate interest.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t listening to you.”


Have you ever woken up some mornings and things suddenly come to mind?

For some reason I realized the black sandals were in the back of my car. I had put them there, thinking I was going to stop at the car wash and need to change.

I was right.

There they were, those little rascals.

Later, I apologized to my son and my husband.

And I skipped dinner that night.

The humble pie is a mighty filling.

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