"I'm embarrassed that you're not embarrassed." Those were my Beloved's last words to me before we kissed and went our separate ways this morning. God love her -- she's outnumbered. Since Megan's death, it's been one female and three males in our house (at least when Matt's home from college). This morning the issue was Chris's insistence on wearing his worn-out tennis shoes rather than his new ones to elementary school. The old ones would be rejected by any charitable organization. If we mailed them to sub-Sahara Africa, they'd mail them back. There is not a stitch left on the toes, so they're basically flip-flops with a lid. But Chris's argument is that it's more important to save the tread on his new tennis shoes for Saturday basketball games. Better to look homeless at school than to take a chance on slipping in an AYBA game. And it's an argument I buy. Makes perfect sense to me. Diane looks at me, shaking her head. On one hand she's upset with me for agreeing with him; on the other hand, she merely pities me for being so shallow. She just doesn't understand our priorities. It's the same problem we face with trying to explain to her why we keep a basketball goal in the living room to play HORSE. ("Over the family photos . . . off the wall . . . against the TV . . . nothing but net.") Or why we play soccer indoors when it's cold outside. Or why we always know where our baseball gloves are but can never locate this morning's paper. Some day, our 5th grader will be in college. Who will I be able to kick a soccer ball in the living room with then? Mis nietos!!