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January 20, 2000 --- 4:19 PM EST

I was stuffing wet laundry in the dryer after pulling out dry laundry in the utility room off the garage and my red bike is winking seductively at me and beckoning and flirting.

I think "Oooo, I could play hooky and screw this laundry junk... I can do that in the middle of the night... but I can't go biking at night... look at the sun, look at all that wind....ooo.... I can't take my bike around back all alone, that's too desolate, but I could bike the softball fields and practice on grass and wouldn't that really burn Paul up? If I got better than him on grass and one weekend when we do go biking out in back and we race I beat him across that big grassy field... muahahahaha! Let's go!"

I fish in the dry laundry heaped on the futon. I put on shorts and socks and then I am crawling around the house on all fours looking under the furniture, growling. Not under the dining room table. Not under the kitchen table. Not under the futon. Not under the bed. Not under my desk in the office.

Where the hell are my sneakers? Why are they not where they are supposed to be, on the shelf in the foyer?

I see Paul's huge honkin' clodhoppers smack in the middle of the dining area. Where the hell are MINE?! I can't bike in high heels. I can't bike in flats. I can't bike in boots. Where are my sneakers?!

Now I am mad. Because sunshine is running out for today and there are no sneakers to be had. If I don't find them, no biking today.

And the more I stare at his shoes the more I wonder if he didn't hide my sneakers just to yank my chain today. Wait a minute. Why are HIS shoes smack in the middle of the dining area instead of where they go on the shoe shelf? I thought I just cleaned up in there last night and there were no shoes there then. Is he toying with me again? I wouldn't put it past him. Because I could have sworn my sneakers where on the shelf yesterday and I didn't wear them, I wore flats. I could have sworn I put his shoes in the shoe shelf when I straightened up the living room and dining area. And he's not above doing these sorts of things just to get my gall.

[...]

So why are his huge clonking shoes there on the floor?!

[...]

He's fucking with my mind, I know it. Grrrr! I can hear him giggling to himself all the way over in his office miles away.

Punk! I feel like cutting up all his shoe laces. No, wait. Too mean.

Or tying them up in knots. No, takes to long to do and then undo later.

Or pulling them out and hiding them. No, too simple. If I am going to get him back it has to be slightly off the wall and bizarre but not so mean he can't fix his shoes again relatively easily.

[...]

How about taking some of the cable ties and tying up all his sneaker holes?

Yeah! That will show him, the sneaker thief!

So I went to the office and yank out the cable tie box, came back to the dining room. I pulled out his shoelaces and stuffed them into the shoes and put dirty socks in there after them so the laces won't fall out and get lost. Then I threaded up his holes with cable ties. They looked strange with the ends sticking up like that. Then I snipped off the ends with scissors and then I dropped the shoes on the floor again and now we just wait.

Let's see how long it takes him to notice his sneakers have been molested!

Update: 11:00 PM EST

He swears up and down he didn't take my sneakers. I don't really believe him yet. He was flabbergasted at his own shoes though. He tried to defend his honor and be mad, but he was laughing too hard. Either because he KNOWS he'd do something like hide my sneakers and understands my doubts, or he really DID hide my sneakers and it still playing with me.

Then we went out to look at the eclipse. Oh, and if I hadn't mentioned it before, I found the missing ice pack. It wasn't in my socks and underwear drawer. It was in the wall unit with the video disks!