If the Shoe Fits


I hobbled into a job interview today like a man whose shoes were too small for his feet.

No, wait, let me back up a little bit . . .


I can never find anything around the house because people keep moving my stuff. Why everyone can’t keep their hands to themselves, I don’t know, but I don’t even try to keep track of things anymore. I just look for something in the last place I put it, and when it’s not there, I ask someone.

“Don’t ask me. I didn’t touch it.”

So I look some more and it always turns out that my camera is in my son’s room, or my keys are in my wife’s purse, or the important document is in the trash, and everyone still maintains that they have no idea how it got there.

Living with people is a mixed blessing, I’ll tell you.

So I was leaving the house for a job interview, nobody else was home, and I couldn’t find my black oxfords.

I was able to find my son’s black oxfords, but his feet are a little bit smaller than mine . . .

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