There is a shoe basket. A nice one. Right by the door. And yet the shoes live EVERYWHERE except the basket — under the couch, in the bathroom, one in the yard, one mysteriously in the fridge. Don't ask.
And never in pairs. Finding two matching shoes is a scavenger hunt I never signed up for.
After bedtime I do the nightly shoe roundup with my exhale, and I swear one day I'm buying stock in Velcro and calling it a day.
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