comfortable shoes?

Sometimes I think too much. Not very often granted, in fact seldom would be a good word. But when I do my mind wanders off to things there's never an answer to which makes it all the more of a waste of brain power (that's probably an oxymoron in my case). Anyway, the last weighty issue I have pondered was concerning Mini-me. Not the Austin Powers one, my own fruit of the loin. Will she grow up to wear comfortable shoes so to speak. It's not a worry if she does. In fact it might relieve some worries, no teenage pregnancies or wondering what wee bag of spots and hormones is trying to get into her knickers 15 years from now. Of course on the other hand I don't get the pleasure of making same bag of spots and hormones sweat by having the "You're not going to do anything to make me or my little princess unhappy, are you?" conversation. "Daddy wouldn't like that. Do we understand each other?" Cue teenage sweat and exploding pimples. It's just that I think my family's already oversubscribed. We've used up our quota on both sides and she has more "aunts" than any girl should ever need. And, now seeing her grow up I'd love to be around if she did decide to have a child herself, liver permitting.

Time to park the brain in neutral again. Where was I? Ah, breasts....