The other night, I was standing in the kitchen making supper for Farmer H, who was kicked back in the La-Z-Boy, watching reruns of MASH. All at once, Farmer H cranked the La-Z-Boy forward and exclaimed,
"I forgot my lottery ticket!"
He buys one every now and then, and sticks it up on the visor of his TrailBlazer. Then when I sit down to discuss my day's winnings (hopefully!) with him, he remembers. This time, I had no winners, and hadn't even mentioned the subject. But Farmer H suddenly remembered his ticket, and had to go outside RIGHT THEN to get it. He was like a cat who can be lazily twitching his tail, chilling on the carpet, and suddenly realizes HE NEEDS TO BE IN ANOTHER ROOM INSTANTANEOUSLY, and tears out of there like a car rounding a corner on two wheels.
Farmer H was delayed momentarily, though. He was just entering the kitchen when he hesitated.
"Huh. I need some shoes."
He went back to the living room, to his collection of three pairs sitting by the fake electric fireplace, just in front of the La-Z-Boy. I don't know what he'd been thinking when he came to the kitchen barefoot, on his way out the door to his Trailblazer parked in gravel. OH YES I DO!
It was not lost on me that Farmer H was right beside the living room bookcase, against the wall where the kitchen starts, when he had that revelation about needing shoes. That's where I park my Crocs. Except I was wearing them on my feet at that moment. Not my old red Crocs, all worn down and misshapen, that I wear all the time around the house. No. My newest Crocs. Which makes them about 6 years old, I think, since I got my mom a pair at the same time, and she's been gone three years now. These Crocs are dark blue. Not even broken in yet!
That's right! Farmer H was planning to wear my newest Crocs out to his car. Which he apparently does all the time, since without even thinking, he bypassed his own shoes, and went straight to the location of mine. Dang it! I don't want Farmer H's stubby bare feet, with the (formerly broken) big toe that doesn't bend, inside my newest Crocs! Call me selfish, but I think some things are personal, my shoes being one.
Uh huh. You know how I hate feet. And here was privileged Farmer H, with $1000 inserts from The Good Feet Store, still wanting to horn in on my $9.99 Crocs that I got off Amazon. When he came back in the Mansion, I let him have it. And I don't mean my newest pair of Crocs!
"You've been wearing my Crocs, haven't you? I KNEW IT! I don't want your feet in there! Your bare feet, all moist and diseasey! Keep your feet out of my shoes!"
Seriously. He has HIS OWN pair of Crocs, which I bought for him, all camouflage and manly, but he's too lazy to walk 10 steps around the short couch to get to them when he goes through the house. Not to mention, they're RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM when he's sitting in the La-Z-Boy.
Here's a picture from the La-Z-Boy. My newest blue Crocs, awaiting my feet when I stand up, and Farmer H's camouflage Crocs. Plus a pair of his shoes that I think he stole out of The Pony's room.
I really wish he had bigger feet, which would keep him out of my Crocs for sure. And while I'm wishing, I wish that they were REAL Crocs, that could bite him if he sticks his Farmer-H-y feet inside my newest Crocs.
Not to sever his feet, of course. He already sounds like he's walking on ankle-stumps from down in my lair. No, just to bite into his flesh. Maybe make him need a tetanus booster. Or give him a little infection requiring antibiotics and a short period of staying off his feet.
I'm pretty sure he wore them again two nights ago. I gave him the option to confess.
"I'm giving you ONE CHANCE to be honest with me. Have you been wearing my Crocs again?"
"Because they were messed up. The strap was down."
"Oh. I ran into them the other night. Maybe that did it."
I'm pretty sure he was lying. If they were REAL Crocs, I would see the telltale tooth marks.