Conversation I Never Imagined Having

We pulled up to the store and Ptolemy said, "I don't have my shoes!"  Well, that's such a common occurrence that I had an immediate response.

"I guess you'll just have to wear your imaginary shoes."

"OK.  Where are they?"

It's just sad that Ptolemy believes imaginary shoes are a real thing that people wear.  Sad or cool.  Or sad.

"Here they are."  (Handing over the imaginary shoes.)  "Put them on and let's go."

"YOU put them on me."  (Holding out a foot.)

"YOU can put on your own shoes.  They're in your hands.  I just handed them to you."

(Thrusting his hands toward me)  "I can't get them on!  YOU put them on me!"

I didn't fully recognize the absurdity of our parking lot conversation because I was troubled by the fact that I couldn't decide what color the imaginary shoes should be.  That's what was bothering me.  Not that I was about to take a kid wearing imaginary shoes into the store where I know everyone, or that I was arguing with said kid about who was going to put on his imaginary shoes.

After I finally got the imaginary shoes on Ptolemy, (he was actually grunting like he does when he struggles with his real shoes), we found one real shoe.  Tolly put that one on for good measure and we went shopping.  At the checkout, the manager (who is my neighbor) said, "Ptolemy is only wearing one shoe."

"The other one is imaginary," I replied.  Duh!  She just couldn't see it because I hadn't decided what color it was.  I'm sure that was the reason.