Even though Lydia is only nine, she and I have nearly the same size feet. She recently became aware of this fact, meaning that as far as she’s concerned, my socks and shoes are now community property. Where once my sock drawer was filled to overflowing, I’m now forced to rummage through the dregs, choosing from pairs with holes in the heels or woefully inadequate elasticity. The other day I came upon her digging through the bottom of my closet and she didn’t look even the slightest bit sheepish at being discovered. Instead she asked me, “Didn’t we have any more cool boots in here?”

Excuse me? What’s this “we” business?

I suppose it’s something I’ll have to get used to as she moves ever farther into adolescence. Maybe I should just count my blessings that my wardrobe contains at least an item or two that she considers “cool.” For all the good it does me, I mean … it’s not like I’ll have the chance to wear them again.