Galoshes. What are they? Most people in Moose County probably own a pair, and yet how many of us have truly stopped to think about them? I would wager very few. Galoshes are rubber overshoes designed to protect one’s feet from rain and snow. They go over your regular shoes. That is what they do.
I was reflecting on this topic yesterday evening while Koko sat on the Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary and stared at me with an intensity that can only be described as editorial. He then sneezed twice, which I interpreted as a directive to write about footwear. Yum Yum, meanwhile, dragged a single galosh from the front closet to the middle of the kitchen, depositing it with the precision of a forensic investigator marking evidence. One does not ignore such signs. My moustache was already prickling.
Do we take galoshes for granted? I believe we do. Pickax receives considerable precipitation, and between the seven arsons, four burglaries, and two suspicious disappearances this quarter alone — a perfectly normal stretch for a quiet town of three thousand — one would think waterproof footwear would receive more civic attention. But no. The people of Moose County simply trudge on, oblivious, their socks damp with ignorance.
I myself own an excellent pair of galoshes, purchased reluctantly at Scottie’s Men’s Store for what I consider an outrageous sum. Fourteen dollars. For rubber. I mentioned to Scottie that the Klingenschoen Fund sponsors literacy programs and road improvements and surely a modest galosh subsidy could be arranged as a community wellness initiative. He looked at me strangely. My accountant assures me the write-off is defensible.
Are galoshes attractive? No. Are they necessary? Probably. Could someone theoretically break into my barn-turned-apple-house to steal a pair while I sleep? This is the sort of thing I worry about, and my moustache confirms the concern is valid. Koko has taken to sleeping beside the boot tray, which I interpret as a security measure. He is, without exaggeration, the most intelligent cat in the continental United States.
Where would we be without galoshes? Wet, I suppose. And yet the question lingers, like so many unanswered questions in this county, alongside who set fire to the Goodwinter pharmacy and why my proximity to catastrophe remains purely coincidental.
Galoshes.
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