And now a large part of me is dead inside

I would just like to point out that she wanted to take home the neon green ones. Neon green. And the only reason I even let her look at these was because she saw them from across the store and was all MY KIDS WEAR THOSE SHOES! I LOVE THOSE SHOES! And that broke my heart a little bit, you know? That she is friends with kids who have no taste whatsoever.

So we walked over to the ENORMOUS display, I’m talking racks and racks, almost an acre of genital wart-inducing gnome shoes, and she heads straight for the green ones, and I’m all, no way, no how, this right here is called compromise, or in some circles they call it laying down the law. I like to call it There Is No Amendment To The Constitution That States You Get To Choose What Color Of Ugly Shoe Your Mother Is Averse To Even Let You Look At.

So I let her take home her second choice, one that will at least match in hue to almost every piece of clothing in her wardrobe. And not one day after she walked around in these things, I kid you not, I would never do that to you, SHE CAME DOWN WITH A 103 DEGREE FEVER. That right there is no coincidence.