Hi,
This is the Daddy here.  I don’t intrude on Melinda’s chatting with the interwebs much.  Mostly because she scares me.  Really, if you want blog gold I’ll start posting the things she says in her sleep sometime.  But, that’s not the point.  I did want to share this tidbit from the other week that was … well, you’ll see.  I typed it up a few Saturdays ago and am just getting to posting it now.
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I left the house today with a goal and an intention.  I intended to commit a crime.  I failed but not for lack of effort.  Now, to be fair it wasn’t a real crime, but one of fashion, the kind that would make Tim Gunn make that exasperated sound in response to something that fills his soul with pity and despair.  Yes, I know who Tim Gunn is and I watch Project Runway despite being fairly close to the opposite of ‘metro.’
You see, my three year old daughter, the girly girl who lives her life in pink and shades of pink has a pair of ‘flower shoes’ that are way too small for her.  They weren’t when she first got them.  They were also a less muddy version of pink.  I approved of them.  Now, I feel differently.  Now, I despise them.  Were my feelings any stronger they would be hate.  I get the stares, or at least imagine them.  My daughter loves them, continues to love them despite the fact that they are so small on her feet that they are hard to walk in.  I imagine that people are staring and thinking, “oh, that man won’t get his daughter new shoes, he should die of the un-funny kind of syphilis.”  I would take a knife to these shoes were it not childish to do so.  I’ve tried throwing them away and somehow, every time my daughter intervenes no matter how asleep she should be.  I let them rot and someone else cleans them.  My goal today was murder, to murder the shoes, and to coerce my daughter into holding the knife.  Those weren’t the crime.
Oh, and let me be clear the child has shoes.  Presently, two pairs.  One that fit perfectly and a pair a little big that she can grow into.  But, a) she never wants to wear them and I tire of the fight and b) I can never find the bloody things!  Now, my wife has correctly pointed out that this is adequate.  She is frugal and has a talent for finding the bloody things that I don’t have.
Back to the matter of crime.  The crime was crocs.  I first became aware of crocs shortly before the middle child was born.  It wasn’t a concern for a long time.  Now, it is.  I don’t like crocs.  I loathe them.  If I found myself needing to kill a man with a screwdriver because his death would better humanity and I found him wearing crocs I would think, “that’ll just make this easier for me to do.”  I don’t see any circumstances in which adult humans should wear these things.  Sure, they’re practical but there are times that dignity is priceless.
But, practicality and the reality of children that leave their shoes outside have worn me down on the circumstances of my child wearing them.  I had to run the store today, first the DIY store for some items and then Wally World for some basic groceries.  The three year old was going with me so we had to find her shoes.  Naturally, they weren’t where all the shoes are supposed to be and finding them turned into a quest that felt distinctly familiar – like a process I’d been through many, many times before.  Yeah, because I had.  I latter found them in the yard which is where they usually are if the teenager or the grandparents have had her out there but also leaves a lot of space for trying to find them in.  So, in the meantime I went to the store and broke down – I’d buy crocs and with the promise of new shoes she had to agree to throw away her old ones.
So, I went to Wally World and approached their eight rows of shoes.  And found bunk.  Seriously, they had maybe two pairs of shoes in her size and they were in boys colors which got about as far with my three year old as Andy Warhol at a Rotary Club.  And they weren’t even crocs.  After five minutes of trying to talk her into shoes I already knew she wouldn’t ever wear I wanted to set fire to the place.  Still, I went through the dance knowing I would lose.  And did.  I left dejected.  You would think I would have been thrilled to be saved from my own moral failure but like a the long term dieter that finally gives in to the urge for the double chocolate fudge cake but FRAK IT, it’s time has come … and then finds the bakery out because no one thought anyone liked chocolate anymore … I just found myself in the middle of a huge commercial chain going WTF WERE THEY THINKING?!  Had right thinking people such as myself killed crocs just in time for my fall from grace to mock my pointless and petty internal failure?  I felt like the universe was mocking me.  It probably was.
In fact, let me point out that these plagued scions of the fashion world, crocs, were no where to be found.  I found one adult pair.  That’s it.  One.  Does no one buy them anymore?  Looking around I saw them on children’s feet.  Seriously, WTF?!
I ended up at a place called Shoe Show.  Really, I don’t even know if this is a real chain or anything.  I’m imaging Tony Soprano is getting the proceeds from the place.  They sell the shoes half off, claim them full price on the books, Tony’s money comes in, clean money comes out.  Still, I’m OK with that because they had cheap shoes.  But still not crocs and no flip flops in her size but they did have two pairs, matching in complimentary colors so I bought them.  They’ll go with her outfits but I still can’t leave them outside.  Still, I think it’s a win.  And Tim Gunn would be proud.

I left the house today with a goal and an intention.  I intended to commit a crime.  I failed but not for lack of effort.  Now, to be fair it wasn’t a real crime, but one of fashion, the kind that would make Tim Gunn make that exasperated sound in response to something that fills his soul with pity and despair.  Yes, I know who Tim Gunn is and I watch Project Runway despite being fairly close to the opposite of ‘metro.’  You see, my three year old daughter, the girly girl who lives her life in pink and shades of pink has a pair of ‘flower shoes’ that are way too small for her.  They weren’t when she first got them.  They were also a less muddy version of pink.  I approved of them.  Now, I feel differently.  Now, I despise them.  Were my feelings any stronger they would be hate.  I get the stares, or at least imagine them.  My daughter loves them, continues to love them despite the fact that they are so small on her feet that they are hard to walk in.  I imagine that people are staring and thinking, “oh, that man won’t get his daughter new shoes, he should die of the un-funny kind of syphilis.”  I would take a knife to these shoes were it not childish to do so.  I’ve tried throwing them away and somehow, every time my daughter intervenes no matter how asleep she should be.  I let them rot and someone else cleans them.  My goal today was murder, to murder the shoes, and to coerce my daughter into holding the knife.  Those weren’t the crime.  Oh, and let me be clear the child has shoes.  Presently, two pairs.  One that fit perfectly and a pair a little big that she can grow into.  But, a) she never wants to wear them and I tire of the fight and b) I can never find the bloody things!  Now, my wife has correctly pointed out that this is adequate.  She is frugal and has a talent for finding the bloody things that I don’t have.Back to the matter of crime.  The crime was crocs.  I first became aware of crocs shortly before the middle child was born.  It wasn’t a concern for a long time.  Now, it is.  I don’t like crocs.  I loathe them.  If I found myself needing to kill a man with a screwdriver because his death would better humanity and I found him wearing crocs I would think, “that’ll just make this easier for me to do.”

I don’t see any circumstances in which adult humans should wear these things.  Sure, they’re practical but there are times that dignity is priceless.   But, practicality and the reality of children that leave their shoes outside have worn me down on the circumstances of my child wearing them.  I had to run the store today, first the DIY store for some items and then Wally World for some basic groceries.  The three year old was going with me so we had to find her shoes.  Naturally, they weren’t where all the shoes are supposed to be and finding them turned into a quest that felt distinctly familiar – like a process I’d been through many, many times before.  Yeah, because I had.  I latter found them in the yard which is where they usually are if the teenager or the grandparents have had her out there but also leaves a lot of space for trying to find them in.  So, in the meantime I went to the store and broke down – I’d buy crocs and with the promise of new shoes she had to agree to throw away her old ones.So, I went to Wally World and approached their eight rows of shoes.  And found bunk.  Seriously, they had maybe two pairs of shoes in her size and they were in boys colors which got about as far with my three year old as Andy Warhol at a Rotary Club.  And they weren’t even crocs.  After five minutes of trying to talk her into shoes I already knew she wouldn’t ever wear I wanted to set fire to the place.  Still, I went through the dance knowing I would lose.  And did.  I left dejected.  You would think I would have been thrilled to be saved from my own moral failure but like a the long term dieter that finally gives in to the urge for the double chocolate fudge cake but FRAK IT, it’s time has come … and then finds the bakery out because no one thought anyone liked chocolate anymore … I just found myself in the middle of a huge commercial chain going WTF WERE THEY THINKING?!  Had right thinking people such as myself killed crocs just in time for my fall from grace to mock my pointless and petty internal failure?

I felt like the universe was mocking me.  It probably was.  In fact, let me point out that these plagued scions of the fashion world, crocs, were no where to be found.  I found one adult pair.  That’s it.  One.  Does no one buy them anymore?  Looking around I saw them on children’s feet.  Seriously, WTF?!I ended up at a place called Shoe Show.  Really, I don’t even know if this is a real chain or anything.  I’m imaging Tony Soprano is getting the proceeds from the place.  They sell the shoes half off, claim them full price on the books, Tony’s money comes in, clean money comes out.  Still, I’m OK with that because they had cheap shoes.  But still not crocs and no flip flops in her size but they did have two pairs, matching in complimentary colors so I bought them.  They’ll go with her outfits but I still can’t leave them outside.  Still, I think it’s a win.  And Tim Gunn would be proud.

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