Two pairs of shoes. Two return labels. One suspicious chicken.
And somewhere in the background, the eggs are laughing so hard they’re practically scrambling themselves. 🐔🥚👟
It Started With One Innocent Pair of Shoes…
There is a certain woman in my life whose identity shall remain confidential. For her protection, we’ll call her Madame Goldilocks.
Madame Goldilocks needs shoes.
Not glass slippers. Not ruby slippers. Just a decent pair of shoes that fit her feet, support her body, and don’t make walking feel like a punishment invented during the Middle Ages.
Simple, right?
WRONG!
Apparently, finding these shoes requires a computer, a credit card, the patience of a saint, and a direct line to the United States Postal Service.
And possibly an exorcist.
Because I suspect the Chicken is involved.
Shoe Number One: The Great Disappointment
The first pair arrived.
I had researched. I had compared. I had studied descriptions and reviews until my eyeballs threatened to resign.
Madame Goldilocks tried them on.
She stood up. She took a few steps. She looked at me.
“Nope.”
NOPE?!
Do you have any idea how many hours went into finding those shoes?!
From somewhere behind the computer, I heard a suspicious little cluck.
Then a giggle. Then several tiny giggles.
The eggs.
Those rotten little eggs were laughing.
Back into the box went shoe number one.
Shoe Number Two: Surely THIS Time!
I wasn’t giving up.
I returned to my computer, determined to conquer the footwear industry.
More research. More measurements. More reviews.
I found another pair!
The shoes arrived, and once again Madame Goldilocks performed her inspection.
One foot went in. Then the other.
A little walking. A little standing. A thoughtful expression.
And then…
“These aren’t right either.”
I stared at her. She stared at me.
Somewhere in the distance, a chicken fell off his perch laughing.
SHOE NUMBER TWO IS GOING BACK!
Then I Noticed Something Suspicious…
The Chicken has been unusually quiet during these shoe-shopping adventures.
And everybody knows a quiet chicken is a suspicious chicken.
Then I caught him standing in front of a mirror, wearing two enormous shoes, practicing his best Madame Goldilocks impression.
“Too tight!”
“Too loose!”
“Not enough support!”
“These make my feet look funny!”
Behind him, the eggs were rolling around, giggling so hard they could barely stay in their shells.
And suddenly I had a terrifying thought.
HAVE I BEEN BUYING SHOES FOR A WOMAN OR A CHICKEN IN DISGUISE?!
The Verdict Is Still Out
Now, in fairness, Madame Goldilocks has feet that require some special consideration. Comfortable shoes aren’t a luxury when your feet need real support.
And nobody should have to keep shoes that hurt.
I know that. My bank account knows that. Even the postal worker probably knows that by now.
But TWO PAIRS?!
Meanwhile, the Chicken is demanding a third pair, preferably in yellow, with extra room for his claws.
The eggs have started taking bets on how many boxes I’ll return before Christmas.
And me?
I’m sitting here with a return label, a roll of packing tape, and a very serious question:
Is Madame Goldilocks really that particular about her shoes… OR HAS THAT DAMN CHICKEN BEEN IMPERSONATING HER THE ENTIRE TIME?!
Stay tuned for Shoe Number Three. If there is a Shoe Number Three.
At this rate, I’m considering buying the Chicken a pair of roller skates and calling it a day.
🐔🥚👟
The Chicken Ate My Website
He Ate The Damn Thing!
