Wednesday, March 5, 2008

The Shoe House

The way we drive to work every day, we go through a residential area. We drive by this one house, and in my head, I call it The Shoe House. It’s a normal house, I think it is painted green blue, it has a black wrought iron fence in the front, nice landscaping, and I often see who I assume to be the homeowners out front, pulling weeds, mowing, or taking out garbage. They are meticulous and obviously care about their yard.

So what’s the problem? There are shoes IN their landscaping. The first time I saw it, I thought, that’s strange, there is a shoe in their landscaping. I figured they had kids or something and someone lost their shoe while playing in the yard. I was surprised that they would let their kids play in such a nice yard. A couple of weeks later, I noticed that there is a plant growing from inside the shoe. Ew. It’s been at least six months now since I first noticed The Shoe House, and there are now three shoes in the landscaping, all with plants growing in them. What. The. Heck.

It really bothers me. To the point where I have to grip the door handle to restrain myself from jumping out of the car, clumsily climbing over the black wrought iron fence, certainly scraping my legs in the process on the pointy ends, grabbing the shoes, and running back to the car. Where I would then have The Man speed off in our get-away car, dump the plants out the window as we go, and throw the shoes in the dumpster when we get to my office.


If we lived closer to The Shoe House, I would sneak out of the house at night, tiptoe over to The Shoe House, go through the black wrought iron gate (so as not to leave a bloody trail from climbing over the fence), snatch the shoes, dump out the plants on the way home, and throw them away in the garbage once I got home. Then I would check the garbage every day to make sure they were still in there until garbage day. Then I would watch the garbage man put the shoes into his truck and then I might be able to sleep.

I guess it’s a good thing they have a black wrought iron fence and that we don’t live closer. And that I’m on medication and in therapy, so that I only think those things instead of actually doing them.

Seriously, though? What IS that? Like an Ode to Shoes? Do they worship some sort of shoe god? Maybe it’s good Fun Shui and it helps their financial life. I just wish I understood.


amanda said...

we used to live by this home that took the term "flower bed" a bit too seriously. They put old head and footboards from beds on the top and bottom of their flowerbeds... So their yard was essentially filled with beds full of flowers. It probably wouldv'e been cute in the country. But it turned out to be quite the eyesore.

Huckdoll said...

That is creepy! I don't blame you for having those thoughts.

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