Me, me, and more me

Like most women, I like it when a conversation is focused squarely on me. I'm not that picky on what, exactly, we talk about (me), just as long as the main focus is yours truly. Last night, while sitting on the couch with a nice Merlot chatting with Arthur, I could feel the conversation moving swiftly away from my favorite topic. In order to pull it back, I had to do some quick thinking. I needed a topic that addressed Arthur's vast opinion buckets, while still focusing mostly on me.

"What about me really gets under your skin?" I blurted out.

Arthur smiled the knowing smile of someone who knows that they are about to step into a pit of angry rattlesnakes, but does it anyway, for kicks and giggles.

"Not a lot," he replied, "but you do leave your shoes all over the house."

I thought, for a moment, about getting angry and denying it, but realized that:

a) I'd introduced the topic, and
b) It might be true.

I did a quick walk through of the house, and found no less than 6 pair of shoes laying around where they didn't belong.

My casual mules were in the kitchen.
My running shoes were on the stairs.
My once great, but now mostly for gardening Pradas were in the foyer.
My favorite black backless pumps were laying in the library.
My slippers were in the hall.
My black boots were in the laundry room.

All but the slippers should have been resting comfortably in the front hall closet. Apparently, I'm no longer allowed to angrily accuse people of leaving their shoes out where I can trip over them.

I hate it when Arthur is so smugly correct. On the bright side, I got to spend the better part of 20 minutes thinking solely about me.