On the floor of the Wal-Mart

When you are one year old there are few things as fascinating as velcro. Especially the velcro on your first pair of denim baby shoes. Because when you tug on the velcro it makes a sound that's a hybrid between paper ripping and the cat coughing up a hairball... both things that fascinate you.
So, you unfasten and refasten your little shoes with much concentration and focus until you are actually able to remove the shoe and throw it on the floor of the Wal-Mart, using the opportunity when Mommy bends to pick it up, to covertly grab a handful of the clothing on the rack next to you and pull it over to put into your mouth.
But then when the "Taker away of all things fun" (Mommy), intervenes you have to give her the special smile. The one where you close your eyes all squinty shut and smile bearing all 14 of your teeth while looking at the ceiling and turning beet-red. Because then she won't get that look when she realizes that you just kicked your other shoe off onto the floor.