Then Chuck, being the smartass he is, gave me these for Christmas:
(Those, too, are slippers. Is it any wonder that Junior cries, “Cookie! Cookie!” while trying to attack my feet because he thinks I am trampling the face of his favorite puppet?)
I even got Chuck a pair of slippers! (Normal LL Bean slippers, I swear).
We were all going to be one big, happy slipper-wearing group. Happily Podiatry ever after.
But Life had a different adage in mind, didn't she? Mmmm, yes, the ever popular "careful what you wish for." Chuck's boss gave him the pink slip today* which meant I had to have THE TALK with the nanny after work (I get home first and Chuck, well, he's a talker and a sucker which means he might have given the nanny a raise instead of ending things).
Aside from the heavy sighs and wistful looks, she took it well. As she packed up her cheese and—yes!—slippers, I kept wanting to tell her that it was us, not her. That with a little time things might work out differently and we may still get back together. We need a little space right now and yes, we need our keys back.
Sigh. I was really starting to like her (again). She brings her double stroller and she puts her own kid in the front carriage and tucks Junior safely in back so he's not dangling into the street. Who does that with someone else's kid?
I want her back! We can make it work!
I'm going to shoot some Jager and cry into my Cookie Monster slippers now.
* Sorry, honey. You'll make a great stay-at-home dad.
