Find The Shoe (Clean Version)

  • I woke up as usual. It was around 11:15 a.m., and my usual routine was to turn my phone on and listen to crazy rock music while having my first cup of coffee. I really felt like dog droppings that morning.

    As I was turning my phone on, I saw missed call from Peter. He left an irate voicemail.

    "Hey XARA! Where the freaking heck is my left shoe? I can't find it. I don't have time to find it. Sigh! Screw it. I'm wearing my dad's old shoes. This man has boats for feet, I'm telling ya! Ggrrrrrrrrr! Curse you and curse this morning. I'm late for work. Doggone it!!!" Peter said over voice message.

    I cracked up. I called the disgruntled, curly-haired jerk back.

    "Hello?" said an irate Peter.

    I laughed over the phone. "Did you realize your shoe was in a copper hanging basket on the porch? That shoe was easy to find. Haha. And the other shoe was under the table. Easy to find," I said while being half awake.

    "Nooooooooooooooooo, or I wouldn't have called you. Trust me. I have no interest in doing any sort of human interaction. Yes, I'm doing dry wall. I hate this world," Peter said

    "You and me both. Haha. You were in a hurry, huh? Why?" I asked.

    "I DON'T know. I am slipping out of my shoes. This guy has big feet. Why couldn't he have been a movie star? Nope. He had to be a drywall boss. Why me? Haha," Peter said.

    "I don't know, but I just woke up," I said as I went downstairs to absent-mindedly make coffee.

    "Ughhhhh... I hate these shoes. I hate this job. AND you. I hate, hate, hate, HATE YOU!!! Why did you do this to me?" Peter asked. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

    "Because I also hate you, you spoiled, curly-haired, tall, beanstalkish, glasses-wearing, freckled jerk FACE! That's why," I said as I was grinding my coffee.

    "Well, I personally think you are an over-opinionated, self-centered, straight-haired, short, kind of portly, rude, and not to mention CRAZY cur wench! The only reason we keep you around is because my mother needs you," he said as he was sanding his drywall. He emphasized the word, "I."

    "Psssh. Yeah, okay. She and I have been fighting, too," I said as I poured water in my coffee maker.

    "Yeah. What the heck is wrong with you two? She is fighting with me, too. I just assume she is under too much pressure with my dad and his GIANT feet. Size 15. Jesus. I wear a size 12! This is asinine. Crazy. Why can't you get along with women? They don't hate you as much as they hate me," Peter said. He emphasized the word, "crazy."

    I rolled on the floor and laughed. "I'm having a physical problem and am angry with everyone for NO reason. My anger is burning everything around me. The government shutdown is screwing with people's livelihoods. Donald Trump is making hard decisions. I need more money. Your mother hates EVERYTHING I do. Women want to be like me, but I don't want to be like them. Makes them angry," I said.

    "Haha. I'm pretty sure she resents the fact that I don't help with Dad enough. I'm sorry she's under a lot of pressure and that he wants to do this and do that and do whatever, but what am I supposed to do? I'm not a freaking nurse. And I have no bedside manner. What am I supposed to do?" Peter asked.

    "Sigh. I don't know, dude. She's seriously impossible these days," I said.

    "Well, she might be, but she's less impossible than you are. At least I halfway understand her. If I were her, I'd forget it and give him to another family member that isn't my son," he said.

    "Oh YEAH, because I like being jumped on when I walk through the door to actually do my job," I said. "I already felt horrible. I should have stayed home and slept ALL DAY, but nooooooooooooooooo. I wanted us to have coffee I made fresh from whole beans and share out of a big chocolate box because the whole day was kaput before it even started. I'm a nice person, PETER!!!!"

    "Well you didn't have to throw the coffee table at my head, Xara!" Peter said. "What was THAT about? And I still haven't found my GOOD brown shoes you hid somewhere else that NOT EVEN MY MOM KNOWS ABOUT!!!! One pair of brown shoes still has teeth marks from when Ted the Alligator gnawed at them. This is the kind of stuff that makes you impossible, Xara." He said "Xara" in a mocking, eight-year-old tone. Peter was very immature.

    "Well, maybe if people were more appreciative, I wouldn't have had to throw a coffee table!" I yelled.

    "My dad was appreciative! Despite him having GIGANTIC BOAT feet and always finding random stuff to do, he's an extremely nice guy! That's where I get it from," Peter started to say.

    I snorted with laughter at that last sentence. Peter? Nice? Only when he wanted to be.

    Peter continued, "Also, my mom is a stress ball and a half from everyone's drama THAT YOU ADD TO BY FIGHTING WITH MEEEE AT ALL TIMES! So, just try to forgive her. The fact that she's not institutionalized somewhere is a blessing."

    "Yeah, I know. I just feel like everyone takes their stress out on me. It just irks me sometimes. I try to do something nice, and it blows up. It's always like this no matter what I do and whom I do it for," I said quickly because my emotions were boiling over.

    "Okay, okay. Slow down. You know I have to side with my parents. It's just code," Peter said.

    "Ugh. I know. I wish you'd be more understanding of what I have to go through with YOUR ATTITUDE. I feel like I have no allies. Except Joebear. But we're married, so that helps. Oh, and Mr. Williamson. He's an understanding and mature guy, UNLIKE YOU," I said.

    "Well, I'm understanding, sure, when I understand. I'm also your ally when it is convenient for me. And occasionally, I stick up for you on the rare occasion that you are correct," Peter said with a laugh.

    "Haha, Peter, you condescending jerk. At least you're honest," I said.

    "Well, you know. I hate these shoes. I'm slipping off this rickety ladder. These doggone boats drive me crazy. Today, I am in a swamp boat, too," he said. "Anyway, let's just forget all of this nonsense. I have to go. I have another place to go. I hate it," Peter said.

    "Awaw. I'm sorry. I thought you'd be able to find your shoes. They were beyond easy to find," I said.

    "I was in a hurry," Peter said.

    "Yeah, I get like that, too. I lose things when I am in a hurry. It makes me mad. Sorry, Peter," I said.

    "It happens to you, too?" Peter asked.

    "Oh yeah. Happened yesterday," I said.

    "That's a nightmare. Anyway, just try to ignore this nonsense. I know, easier said than done, but whatever," Peter said.

    "Yeah, maybe I'll take the month off. Today is pretty garbage already," I said.

    "A month? How would you manage that? I'm lucky if I get a week off much less a month!" Peter said.

    "At least you have a job! I'm unemployed because I'm an alligator!" the voice that sounded like Ted the Alligator yelled through Peter's phone. "And to top it off, I got neutered last week! You got it made, kid!"

    "Jesus! Lord!!!" Peter yelled as I heard a smash and him going "Whoa!!!" in the background. "I need to get the heck out of here. Yeeeeee!!!!" I heard fast footsteps. "I HAAAAATTTTEEE these shoes. Here, you can have them, Ted. I'll buy Dad a new pair. Good Lord I HAAAAATTTTTEEEE MYYY LIIIIFFFFEEE!" The footsteps were getting louder.

    I was cracking up. Ted tormented Peter yet again. I heard Ted laughing and munching on his shoes.

    "What on Earth are you doing without shoes? What's going on? Are you finished with drywalling the attic yet?!" I heard Mr. Williamson's voice yelling at Peter.

    "Ted can climb stairs!! Ted can climb stairs!! He's eating my shoes! No I haven't finished. He's trying to eat me!" Peter was screaming in a loud, high-pitched voice.

    "Calm down. He's not trying to eat you. I sent him up there to check on your drywall. Are you almost done?" Mr. Williamson asked.

    I was laughing without sound at this point.

    "Yes!" Peter screamed in a girly, high-pitched voice. "Please get him out of there!" Peter was crying.

    "All right! Ted! You can come down. Peter needs to finish the drywall," Mr. Williamson said.

    "I really need to go," Peter said as he sounded exasperated. He was crying.

    I was laughing. "See you next week. That's when you'll stop hating me," I said with a laugh.

    "See ya," Peter said as he muttered swear words. Click.