Are you sure your shoes are anatomically correct?
Seriously, are you sure? Have you checked?
Because yesterday, I just happened to notice that inside my slip-ons that I wear out to the curb, it clearly states that they are anatomical, which leads me to ponder: Who knows what I've been carelessly slapping on my tootsies all these years--anatomically incorrect shoes? Perhaps I forced my feet into shoes actually designed for ... ears. And goodness knows the ever-stylish pointy toes do not even remotely resemble anatomically correct feet.
I bought these little shoes a few years ago in an open bazaar in Kazakhstan. That explains the Russian writing in them and the announcement that they are anatomic shoes. That explains it, all right.
And now, I thought I'd share with you what I see the entire time I cook any meal. Even my best meal, cereal.
She usually stands there the entire time, basically on my foot, not looking up at me, but looking straight ahead into the cabinet, which is about 3" away, just concentrating, really hard, to be sure not to miss the stray green onion or chicken piece that falls. I wish my kids concentrated this hard on homework. She's like a Venus Fly Trap for scraps. Shoulda named her Venus.
And here she is, standing at what we like to call the "Yorkie Border." She cannot jump or knock over this table leaf which serves as a makeshift barrier to the front part of the house. (She looks innocent enough, but she is not trustworthy.) Here's the sad thing. She's standing there, waiting ... waiting ... waiting ... for the kids to wake up in the morning. This is what she does; she stands and waits. It's sad because in a few days, there will be no college kids coming down the hall, and the high schooler will be busy getting ready to go to school in the mornings. So she will just be standing there like that kid in the Shane movie. Sad. Sad little Yorkie.