There are basically two kinds of people in this world: those who insist upon wearing shoes at all times, and those who kick off their shoes at every opportunity. I am firmly entrenched in the No Shoes camp, as it is CLEARLY the superior classification.
Besides the fact that I cannot IMAGINE how anyone can stand to have their feet trapped inside hot, sweaty shoes all day long, you should know that wearing shoes wrecks havoc on your floors, particularly carpeting.
Our home has “Builder’s White” carpet throughout, which I happen to love, despite the fact that it’s pretty much devoid of all character or charm. But it’s neat and clean and simple, and I’m all about that, AND it feels fantastic under bare feet.
When one is married to someone who is of the, what shall we say, other persuasion, (the Shoes In The House persuasion, that is) well, one’s white carpets are not as pristine as one might wish them to be.
I have laid out my logical and rational arguments, and my husband refuses to see my point of view. Even if it means replacing our carpets years before we might otherwise have to, he will not take off his shoes in the house until it’s time to crawl into bed. It just ain’t happening, and I’ve long given up trying to convince him of the error of his ways.
And I do not nag him about it. No siree, I do not. Because I certainly don’t want to be a “constant dripping” to my dear husband, who, while certainly not as enlightened as I when it comes to his shoe habits, has many admirable qualities that I do not.
Now, two of our children, the first two, have clearly inherited my superior genes, as they kick off their shoes the minute they step inside the front door. While this means that I am constantly picking up discarded shoes, at least they are not transporting dirt and grime throughout my house.
But I have met my match with R. Clearly her father’s daughter, as if looking just like his side of the family isn’t rude enough, the child INSISTS upon wearing shoes at all times — even with her pajamas, and even when wading in the swimming pool. ALL. THE. TIME.
If her Crocs are available, she puts them on herself. Or, if it’s her buckled sandals she happens across, she will bring them to me and beg in her fussy 19-month-old way until I stop what I’m doing and put them on her chubby little feet.
If I change her clothes, and heaven forbid forget to put her shoes back on and begin to walk away without collecting them, she will desperately reach for her beloved shoes and wail something slightly resembling the word, “SHOE!” over and over until I grab them for her.
I have never seen the beat of it.
This is not a learned behavior. It’s pure instinct. That’s the only possible explanation.
So score one for the husband. I have learned that there is no use in trying to persuade a Shoes In The House person to become a No Shoes person. It’s in their blood, so I won’t even try with R. She’s her daddy’s girl through and through.
But I can at least take comfort in this fact: The No Shoes are still winning. It’s 3 to 2, and that’s the final score.