Crisis. Averted.

J is having a Massive Shoe Crisis.

He cannot find the one pair of shoes he wants to wear.

Personally, I find this highly amusing.

Or, at least, I should say, I did...right up until he started swearing, tossing things around the bedroom and closet, and the Blame Game. Now, thank goodness he landed on the one human being it's totally fair game to blame after any visit, for any length of time, even if over a year has past: MiMi. MiMi adores being helpful (read: putting everything where she thinks it should live) but generally fails to leave a key code as to where to find things.

Anything, really.

I couldn't find the egg beater. Checked all the kitchen drawers, all the places it should live, only to not find it. (When this happens to me, it's highly annoying) So to a certain extent, I can understand the whole Shoe Crisis, from beginning to end.

I suppose I should toss in there these are his Funeral Shoes, to go with the one suit he owns (that is SO going to change being married to me) The Funeral Suit, which I have now selected the appropriately somber tie/shirt funeral combo. Only thing missing? The damn Funeral Shoes. And, okay (add in a huffy breath) for the sake of true understanding, we are indeed going to a funeral.

I could point out that since GiGi is going, and she has new shoes (ones I can even lay my hands on right this very second!!) no one is going to be even looking at J.

I could point out that since I am attending as well, and I have fabulously attractive shoes, not to mention the ultimate accessory to any outfit: The Well Dressed Baby Girl, people will hardly notice he's even there.

I could also comment that if people are staring at his shoes, he's doing something seriously wrong.

Or, they are more interested in him....say, perhaps....in the Biblical sense. Quite creepy at a funeral, but I've heard it's been done before. I'm not entirely sure how they'd explain to their grandkids how they met over an open casket....how their eyes held for eternity over the cookie and coffee table, they knew the moment they held hands for the final prayer at the gravesite that they just knew the were meant for each other.

I can say, without a doubt, that a woman is not going to fall for a man at the viewing for his blasted Funeral Shoes.

Plus also?

For the record?

And hour later?

I found the shoes. In the one place he didn't look: the damn shoe box in the closet, on the shelf.

Really, hold your applause. It's enough for me to know The Crisis Has Been Averted.