Why do we own a shoe rack? Part II

This morning, my children were engaged in the daily race to find their shoes before Dawn picks them up shoeless and carries them to the car forcing them to wear "school shoes" when they get there. (This is one of the perks that we pay for with our plasma at the private school. If our children refuse to get dressed in the morning, we are encouraged to bring them in their pajamas. The teachers will then lead them to the bathroom, hand them some clothes and instruct them to stay there until they are properly dressed for school. I gotta tell you, each of the kids has only had to do that once.) This morning it was Storm who was hopping around in one shoe. Faith joined in the hunt in a rare show of sportsmanship. I was changing Ray's sizeable and mushy load when I heard Faith running down the hall screaming, "Storm! I found it!" She slid to a halt right at the door of the bedroom and slung the shoe right into the poop.

Why do we own a shoe rack?

When the sanatorium (isn't that where uninsured crazy people get sent?) goons come to cart me away to the loony bin and someone sticks a microphone in my face (because I'll of course be famous by then. No idea why I'm so poor.) and asks, "What happened? What finally drove you over the edge?" I'll wrestle free of the shackles, grab the mike and in my best gravely drooly voice I'll slur, "It was the shoes! My children's shoes! Oh, the misery of missing shoes!"