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, for one, have thought about them. I thought about them this morning for nearly four minutes while Yum Yum sat on my lap and stared at the wall with an intensity that can only be described as philosophical. She knows something about galoshes that we do not. I am sure of it.
Galoshes are rubber. They go over shoes. They keep feet dry. These are facts. Why do so few journalists have the courage to state them plainly? My moustache tingled when I typed that last sentence, which tells me I am onto something significant.
Koko, meanwhile, knocked a single galosh off the boot tray this morning and then sat beside it, unblinking, for eleven minutes. Coincidence? I think not. The last time Koko fixated on footwear, a man in Chipmunk was found dead in a drainage ditch three days later — the fourteenth suspicious death in Pickax this year, which is perfectly normal for a community of three thousand. I happened to be in Chipmunk that afternoon for unrelated reasons I see no need to elaborate upon.
A decent pair of galoshes costs twelve dollars. Twelve dollars! For rubber! I mentioned this at the Dimsdale Diner, where I was enjoying a complimentary lunch courtesy of a local establishment that values my column. The K Fund technically covers my footwear as a community outreach expense, which my accountant assures me is standard practice.
Do galoshes attract squirrels? I ask because something has been chewing on mine, and I suspect it is the same criminal element responsible for depleting my birdseed reserves. I have installed a motion-activated light near the back door, billed appropriately to building maintenance. One cannot be too careful. Someone could steal the cats.
Are galoshes fashionable? No. Are they necessary? Obviously. Do I have more to say on the subject? I do not. You are welcome, Moose County.
Galoshes.
Leave a Reply