One day, I was looking for some old shoes that could get dirty in our shoe closet. I looked from shelf to shelf, but I just couldn’t find where those old beaten up shoes were. The first shelf? The second shelf? I had no idea.

Our shoe closet wasn’t exactly a mansion; it basically was a small room with three shelves on the left, and random junk we stored out of sight on the right. It was small, so I didn’t quite get why I couldn’t find the box.

The reason seemed to be my mom. She has a lot of shoes. High heel stilettos, athletic low, flats, sandals, tennis shoes: they just keep on coming. How many choices were there?

“Hey! Mom! Which shelf are my shoes on?” I hollered to my mom, who was in the master bedroom, working on her latest piece of writing that apparently would hit the world by storm.

“I have no idea, honey,” she replied after a pause. “But my shoes are the first three shelves on the top!”

I went back into the shoe closet, looking below the first three shelves for what would hopefully be my shoes, while thinking to myself why I hadn’t considered looking here.

The answer hit me by storm three seconds later. I hadn’t looked at the fourth or fifth shelf because there was no fourth or fifth shelf.

There were only three shelves in total.

“Mom, you’re joking! The first three shelves are all yours?”

She walked out of the room, eyeing at me. “Why, yes. I have stilettos, athletic shoes, exercise shoes, flats, sandals, blue shoes, red shoes, black shoes, wide shoes, short shoes, narrow shoes…”

I stopped her before she became the next Dr. Seuss. “Okay. I get it. Why do you have so many shoes anyway?”

She looked at me, and out of nowhere began to laugh. It started somewhere in her stomach and went on until she was laughing full force.

“I’m sorry,” she said in between a giggle. “It’s the look on your face.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Preferably you should answer it now, seeing as I need to make it to the swimming natatorium in three minutes to be on time.”

“Well… er…,” my mom said, stalling. “I have to have different shoes for every outfit. Shoes need to match with whatever I’m wearing. For example,” she said, and rattled off a few color choices and the shoes they corresponded to.

“Well, see,” I replied testily after she had finished, “why do you need to match the colors? I mean, matching the colors of your shirt and pants is one thing, but shoes? I just always wear the same ones,” I said, pointing to my sneakers.

“Well,” my mom replied, “women are different.”

I rolled my eyes. Another one of those answers.