Wipe Your Feet


You crossed my mind today.  Walked right through with your dirty shoes. I asked you to please remove your shoes. You said, “okay.” But you didn’t take off your shoes. You stood there with your arms crossed and smiled.

“If I give you something you want, will you please take off your shoes? You’re getting my brain dirty.” I was beginning to fret and twirl my hair. It always annoyed you when I twirled my hair out of annoyance.

“What are you willing to trade for my shoes?” you asked.

“I have three different types of apples and a variety of cheeses.” I pointed at the basket of apples and cheeses. I hoped you would approve of my offering and remove your shoes that were dirtying my brain. Then I realized that the basket wouldn’t fit in my head.

You must have realized it, too. Because then you were gone. I promise if you’ll come back you can wear your shoes, and I won’t twirl my hair out of annoyance.

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