Not Cool

Dressing Beep the other day, I grabbed her pink boots from where they were hanging in the closet organizer.  I peeked inside them, as I always do with our shoes, to make sure there are no bugs (read: scorpions) inside.

In this case, I saw something dark and rumpled in her boot.  What's a sock doing still inside there? I wondered as I reached my hand inside.

It. Was. Not. A. Sock.

Luckily, it was also not alive.

There was no shrieking, hysterics, or cussing.  There was an inquiry made to Cabbage to be sure he wasn't playing a sick joke on me.  He wasn't.

There was much hand-washing, plus a few threats to move northward, where toads do not infest the boots of darling babies and their unsuspecting mothers.

And those boots, by the way, were verging on too-small, and have now been suddenly retired.  And shall evermore be known as the toadboots.