Yesterday, I finally got myself a new pair of Crocs. I really wanted to get the grape-colored Beach, but I ended up with the light brown Santa Cruz for men. It doesn’t look like your usual Crocs but I love it and it totally looks great with my brown corduroys.

I – together with my feet – was very happy. Until I got home, that is.

The most dreadful scenario welcomed me: some slippers – and my blue Beach Crocs – scattered all over the garage.

My heart instantly skipped a beat and knew who to kill: Ron.

I wanted to kill him then and there but I just had to first check my Crocs and see if they had bite marks or worse, holes!

Thankfully, there were no holes, just bite marks. Several of them. My poor old blue Crocs, now scarred.

I totally hate Ron right now. This is so much worse than him leaving poop outside our door after I refused to let him enter our room. Or him getting my slipper from our rack and smudging it with poop and leaving it in some corner.

I swear he’s turning out to be some sort of devil dog.