The Day Daddy Wore Odd Shoes
A funny little family story about rushing, listening, and one very cosy slipper.
Daddy was late.
Not a little bit late.
Very, very, toast-in-his-mouth, jumper-inside-out, where-are-my-keys late.
“Alfie!” called Daddy from the hallway. “Shoes on, please!”
Alfie was already wearing his shoes. He was also wearing his coat, his backpack and one dinosaur glove.
The other dinosaur glove was on his head.
“Found it,” said Alfie.
Daddy came hopping down the stairs with a piece of toast in one hand and his phone in the other.
“Excellent. Brilliant. Marvellous. We are nearly a sensible family.”
Mum looked over her mug of tea. “Are you?”
Daddy did not hear. He was looking for his keys in the fruit bowl.
At last, Daddy found his keys in his coat pocket, where they had been all along.
“Right!” said Daddy. “Nursery first, shop second, bus hopefully not missed!”
He shoved his feet into two things by the door.
One was a blue trainer.
The other was a fluffy brown slipper.
Alfie stared.
The trainer had laces.
The slipper had ears.
“Daddy,” said Alfie.
“No time, sausage,” said Daddy. “We’ll miss the bus!”
“But Daddy—”
“Coat zipped? Bag packed? Biscuit crumb on your chin? Lovely. Let’s go!”
And out they went.
On the pavement, Daddy walked quickly.
Well, he tried to walk quickly.
One foot went stomp.
The other foot went flump.
Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump.
Alfie looked down.
Daddy’s trainer foot was marching.
Daddy’s slipper foot was having a nap.
“Daddy,” said Alfie again. “Your shoes are—”
“Good walking, Alfie!” said Daddy. “Very speedy!”
Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump.
A lady from next door was watering her pot plants.
She looked at Daddy’s feet.
Then she looked at Daddy’s face.
Then she looked at the sky, as if the clouds had suddenly become very interesting.
“Morning,” said Daddy.
“Morning,” said the lady. “Cosy choice today.”
“Thank you!” said Daddy. “Bit chilly, isn’t it?”
Alfie opened his mouth.
But Daddy was already stomp-flumping away.
At the corner shop, Daddy held the door open.
Stomp-flump.
The little bell went ting!
Mr Singh, the shopkeeper, smiled from behind the counter.
“Morning, Alfie. Morning, Dad.” Then he looked down. “New fashion, is it?”
Daddy glanced at his coat. “This old thing? No, had it years.”
Mr Singh coughed into his hand. It sounded a bit like a laugh.
Alfie tugged Daddy’s sleeve.
“Daddy, your—”
“One pint of milk, please,” said Daddy. “And bananas. And absolutely no forgetting anything.”
Alfie looked at Daddy’s feet.
Stomp.
Flump.
The slipper ears wobbled.
“Bananas,” said Mr Singh. “Milk. And perhaps… a pair of eyes?”
Daddy laughed. “I’ve got two already, thanks.”
Alfie sighed a very small sigh.
Outside, Daddy carried the milk in one hand and Alfie’s backpack in the other.
They hurried towards nursery.
Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump. Stomp-flump.
At the nursery gate, Alfie’s friend Poppy was waiting with her grandma.
Poppy looked at Daddy’s feet.
Then Poppy pointed.
“Why is your daddy wearing his bedtime shoe?”
Daddy stopped.
“My what?”
“Your bedtime shoe,” said Poppy. “On one foot.”
Poppy’s grandma smiled kindly. “It is a very nice slipper.”
Daddy slowly looked down.
He saw the blue trainer.
He saw the fluffy brown slipper.
He saw the ears.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
Then Daddy made a noise like a kettle beginning to boil.
“Oh.”
Alfie put both hands on his hips.
“I tried to tell you.”
Daddy looked at Alfie.
Then at the slipper.
Then at the trainer.
Then he started to laugh.
Not a little laugh.
A big, wobbly, belly laugh.
“I’ve been to the shop,” he said, “wearing one trainer and one slipper.”
“And past Mrs Brown,” said Alfie.
“And Mr Singh,” said Daddy.
“And Poppy,” said Alfie.
“And half the street,” said Poppy’s grandma.
Daddy laughed even more.
Alfie laughed too. Poppy laughed. Poppy’s grandma laughed. Even the slipper looked as if it might laugh, if slippers knew how.
Daddy bent down.
“Alfie,” he said, “you are officially Chief Shoe Inspector.”
Alfie stood very tall. “I know.”
“What shall we do, Chief Shoe Inspector?”
Alfie thought carefully.
“You can put the slipper in my backpack,” he said. “And hop.”
Daddy looked at the pavement.
“I might save hopping for emergencies.”
So Daddy put the fluffy slipper in Alfie’s backpack. Then he walked home very slowly with one trainer and one sock.
“That is even funnier,” said Alfie.
Daddy nodded. “Yes, but slightly less cosy.”
When they got back home after nursery, Mum was waiting by the door.
“Well,” she said. “Did you remember the milk?”
Daddy held it up proudly.
“Did you remember the bananas?”
Daddy held those up too.
Mum looked at his feet.
“Did you remember your shoe?”
Daddy looked down.
Alfie burst out laughing before Daddy could answer.
That night, after bath time, story time and one very serious hunt for the missing dinosaur glove, Daddy came to tuck Alfie in.
He lifted one foot.
Trainer.
He lifted the other foot.
Trainer.
“Inspection, please,” said Daddy.
Alfie checked both feet.
“No slippers,” he said.
“Excellent,” said Daddy. “Can I go out tomorrow?”
Alfie nodded. “But I will check again.”
Daddy kissed the top of his head. “Good. Every family needs a Chief Shoe Inspector.”
Alfie snuggled under the duvet.
In the hallway, Daddy’s fluffy brown slipper sat neatly beside its friend.
Not on Daddy’s foot.
Not at the shop.
Not at nursery.
Just where a slipper should be, waiting for bedtime.