The Shoe Tree

My parents resisted the temptation to give sarcastic answers to my stupid questions, but they caved in every so often.
“They grow on trees,” my mother said, exhausted from my asking where shoes come from for the tenth time that morning. “In fact, the tree on the corner is a shoe tree.”
She pointed to the plum bush.
“Why don’t I see shoes on it?” I asked.
“They grow at night,” said my dad. “Neighbors steal them.”
I spent a week camped out on the lawn, trying to stand guard over the shoe tree.
I got a case of pneumonia.