I Get Booted Out Of The Bedroom


I have four pairs of shoes. Black work shoes, amusingly misnamed ‘running’ shoes, Sampson sandles and work boots for the yard which I’ve had for over ten years.

“We need to find a new spot for them,” Tracey told me. At first I thought the spot at the bottom of the cupboard in the baby’s room was needed for something far more pressing. But no. She pointed at my yard boots. “They’re stinking the cupboard up.”

Every three months or so my wife spring cleans the house and my role, during this mass exodus of stuff to the dump, is to place myself between my wife and the wheely bin and try to save as much of my crap as I can.

“I’ll find a spot for them,” I told my wife, quickly gathering them up and shuffling off.

To be honest, I don’t think they smell so bad. Especially in a house where there’s always something unpleasant wafting around.

“What’s that smell?” asked Master22 yesterday. He’s home from university for a few days and has been doing all that stuff his father is incapable of – like downloading mods for Minecraft on the computer in mine and Tracey’s bedroom.

“It might be me,” said Miss6. “I farted.”

“Nice,” said Master22 without any conviction whatsoever.

“So did I,” confessed Master9.

“Awww!” complained Miss6. “Now I don’t know if I like it or not.”

Suddenly a loud ripping sound filled the room. Everyone looked at Miss10, who was grinning with the self satisfaction of a girl who was no longer in danger of stomach cramps.

“It’s all good, guys,” she said. “We can leave the room. Mum and Dad have to sleep in here.”

I suspect the girl had something of a premonition because that night Tracey and I had just kissed and rolled over when suddenly it became clear we weren’t alone.

“Did you fart?” I asked Tracey.

“No,” she said. Without taking a sniff she asked, “Did you?”

I said I hadn’t tooted, so we both took an exploratory sniff to see if the scent still lingered. It did. We took a few more sniffs.

“It is you!” snapped Tracey, whacking me on the thigh. “It’s your bloody shoes! You put them under the bed, didn’t you!”

So, as of a trip to the wheely bin last night, I have three pairs of shoes. Black work shoes, amusingly misnamed ‘running’ shoes and Sampson sandles. Not to mention, a brilliant excuse for getting out of the mowing.

…and then there were three.

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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.” 


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