There was an old woman who wasn't me.

There was an old woman
Who lived in a shoe
She had so many children
She didn't know what to do
She gave them some broth
Without any bread
Then whipped them all soundly
And sent them to bed.

So I woke up with this nursery rhyme in my head. For the life of me, I don't know why. But being me, I immediately began asking questions. How big was the shoe? Was it a boot as commonly depicted? Or a Halmor Diamond Tip Super Flexi Jig shoe? How many kids were there and what constitutes too many? 8? 27? 4???

Quite honestly, I'm fascinated with the idea of living in a shoe and I'd kind of like to try it. My shoehouse would be a boot with a fairly substantial heel. It would lace up the front and zip down the back. It would be black patent leather to shuck the rain and prevent interior water damage. The insole would be laid with a half-inch padding and berber carpet to make cleanup a snap.

We would have our main living quarters in the toe of the shoe, with a cozy round table set in the cozy round toe. A small kitchen would run along the left side of the ball of the shoe and the arch would be hardwood floors, highly polished by 18 pairs of wax-bottom socks sliding repeatedly down it every day. Walking up the arch would be a bitch, but would provide good exercise to facilitate a healthy style of living. In a shoe.

The stem of the heel of the shoe would have a pole running down the middle and a staircase spiralling the sides. 12 inches of foam would cushion the bottom of the stem to allow the children to stick the landing. The tongue of the shoe would double as a slide; the laces would serve double duty for swinging and climbing. In inclement weather, the tongue would be retracted and tied firmly in place, and play would be redirected to the heel.

At night with our hearty broth eaten, I would spend a few moments tossling heads and tickling sides, then whack the bottom of each child and send them scampering up the arch in their slippery socks to the heel where they would begin an upward trek to their beds, each with an eyelet for a window, and oldest children at the uppermost part of the boot, younger ones at the bottom (in case they needed a glass of water in the middle of the night...).

And each night, my final motherly act of the day would be to climb the interior staircase and kiss each of them softly on the head and wish them pleasant dreams. In our cozy shoe.