They Call Me Stinky Feet Man

It's true. My feet stink. But only when I'm wearing my sandals. I don't know what happened. Maybe I wore them into the lake at camp too many times and the fishy stench seeped into the fiber of my $8 Jumping Beans sandals. Maybe my feet just stink. Either way, my parents are counting down to the end of sandal season. I know what you're thinking, why don't they just wash them or get a new pair? #1 They have washed them. The stench is resistant to laundry detergent. #2 I'm going to grow out of these shoes any day now/it won't be warm enough for sandals anymore, so why waste the money on sandals I can only wear a few more weeks? It's bad though. I'm surprised no one has passed out from the odor.

In other news, my parents are making fun of me for my choice of reading material tonight. I haven't been that interested in books until recently. Normally story time is my time to do whatever I want without getting pummeled by my sisters because they are distracted by the books. At bedtime, it has also been my chance to get milk, but that doesn't seem to be an option anymore. So, tonight when Dad finished reading I Stink (very appropriate for the first part of my post) to Liana and Gillian, I pulled a book off the shelf and brought it over to Mom. I climbed up onto the bed and sat patiently with my feet dangling over the edge and my hands in my lap. Gillian and Liana were very excited by my choice, but Mom and Dad just kept looking at each other. Finally, after I poked at the book a few more times, Mom read it, Barbie: The Wonderful Wedding. What's so wrong about wanting to hear a story about Barbie's little sister Stacie getting her flower girl dress dirty just moments before the wedding? Hey, at least I finally want to listen to stories.