Big shoes to fill.

I really couldn’t care less about shoes.  I have a brown pair.  I have a black pair.  I have a dressy pair.  I have a running pair.  I’m good.  Every once in a while I’ll splurge on a BOGO deal at Payless.  Don’t be jealous.  Not everyone can be as stylish as I am. 

What’s really odd about this whole deal is that my child somehow inherited some shoe gene that she certainly didn’t get from me.  Perhaps it skips a generation?  Then again, my mom doesn’t really care about shoes much either.  Maybe Imelda Marcos is a long-lost relative of ours.  If so, please message me to find out where you can send my inheritance check.

Being the lazy person I am, I leave my shoes in various places around the house.  I figure one day I’ll get around to picking them up.  In the meantime, Anna always takes it upon herself to try all of them on for size.  Granted, her feet are the size of boats, but they’re little bass boats.  My feet are huge tugboats.  So, when she wears my shoes, it’s quite comical.  She’s actually mastered walking in my shoes, and she also puts them on the right feet.  She’s a genius, I tell ya.  A shoe obsessed genius. 

<<Side note, as I type this, my child is trying to put my heels on.>>

Here she is trying to fill my big shoes.  She’s doing a heckuva job, too!

Who you lookin’ at?

I believe she’s doing The Hustle right here. 

Do ya think the shoes match her outfit?

I can only hope and pray that I don’t have to sell a kidney to support her shoe habit one day.