Chooch is obsessed with my shoes. He takes them all out of my closet, strews them around, admires them, then rearranges them. Sometimes the occasional pair call out to him and he feels obliged to try them on.
My brother Corey went through this phase. He didn’t grow out of it until he was thirteen. (As far as I know – he might be hording an impressive moonlight stiletto collection.)
The sad thing is that I feel like he walks in these ones with more grace than I do. I know, I know, not much of a feat.
His legs are screaming for a garter.