Text I received from Jay about an hour ago: “You stole my shoe.” Apparently, he is packing to evacuate because Hurricane Irene is headed straight for Berwyn and he doesn’t want his monster truck to be damaged. I waited a moment, thought about that, considered not answering, then replied, cautiously: “When?” Seconds passed and “I hate you.” popped onto my Blackberry screen. I’ve opted not to respond to that. What good could come from it? I’m sure he does hate me. And he’s opted not to elaborate. So far. And some of you may find my response to him a little odd (“When?”), but that’s only because you weren’t there for The Great Shoe Meltdown Part I (I guess, because who could have imagined that there was going to be a Part II to a shoe meltdown a month after we’d moved out and left him, shoes and all).