When I was about six, she insisted on buying me the ugliest pair of gray “church” shoes I’d ever seen. I hated them. With passion. I can still picture those ugly little shoes like it was yesterday. I did my best to refuse to wear them, even in the shoe store.
My feet were still growing pretty quickly, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before they didn’t fit anymore…but what to do until they got too small? I wasn’t about to wear those hideous things to church, of all places.
I hid them, and hid them well. I put them in the last place I knew Mom would look…her own closet. She had a hamper with off-season and hunting clothes in it, so I dug down about half way and deposited the nasty little gray shoes.
When Sunday rolled around, I denied knowing the location of the ugly shoes, and ended up having to wear my old ones.
Mom continued to look for those shoes, and finally found them a few months later when she went to pull out the winter sweaters. Of course by that time, they were too small. My plan had worked! Genius!
She asked me about it, and I told her very matter-of-factly what I’d done. I probably would’ve gotten a spanking if she’d been able to stop laughing long enough.
I never had to wear ugly shoes again.
How funny! :) Sounds like something I would have tried as a child. :)
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