When my daughter, Monica, was little, more than forty years ago,
it started one night at the dinner table when she refused (or
maybe I should say "delayed and delayed and delayed") to drink
her milk, despite repeated commands to drink it up.

Somehow my attention was distracted just for a moment, and when I
looked back at Monica, the milk had mysteriously disappeared! She
told us that someone else sneaked in and drank it.

This developed into a traditional household routine: "Drink your
milk!" I'd make an elaborate and obvious visual search, first
peering down a hall into another room and then under the table
and chairs. I couldn't see that anyone was hiding in any of those
places. But I'd look back to Monica, and Voila! The milk had
vanished! Mirabile Dictu! We came, in time, to blame the
disappearances on "the Milk Sneaker".

To this day, if something is missing in our house we blame it
on The Milk Sneaker, The Comb Sneaker, The Glasses Sneaker, or
some other member of the multitudinous Sneaker clan who populate
our abode.

Dave Oesterreich