Galoshes. What are they? Most people in Moose County probably own a pair, and yet how often do we stop to truly consider them? Not often enough, I’d wager. They go on your feet. They keep out the wet. These are facts.
I was reflecting on this very subject yesterday morning when Koko knocked a single galosh off the boot tray in the entry hall of my barn-converted-apartment, which the Klingenschoen Fund maintains at absolutely reasonable expense to the taxpayer. He batted it precisely seventeen inches across the floor. Seventeen. The exact number of unsolved arsons in Pickax this fiscal quarter. Coincidence? My moustache tingled violently, which it only does when something of great significance is afoot — no pun intended, though I will accept credit for it.
Yum Yum, meanwhile, sat inside the remaining galosh and stared at me with an expression that could only be described as omniscient. Do cats understand waterproof footwear? I believe these two do. They understand most things better than the residents of this county, who, I should note, have never once thanked me for writing this column.
Galoshes are not cheap. I purchased a pair at Scottie’s Men’s Store last March and was appalled to discover they cost nearly fourteen dollars. Polly Duncan once suggested I buy a second pair. Why would anyone need two pairs of galoshes? This is exactly the kind of reckless spending that concerns me, even as I write off my current pair as a K Fund journalistic equipment expense, which my accountant assures me is entirely above board.
Speaking of Polly, she mentioned that old Ephraim Goodwinter reportedly owned galoshes made of genuine India rubber. He was, of course, later found dead under mysterious circumstances, as is the custom in Pickax. I happened to be dining nearby that evening, but I’m told that is not relevant.
Are galoshes fashionable? No. Are they necessary? Perhaps. Will someone eventually try to steal mine, or lure my cats away with the promise of superior galoshes? I remain vigilant. A squirrel was seen near my doorstep this morning, eyeing the boot tray. I have alerted the authorities.
In conclusion, galoshes serve a purpose, and that purpose is galoshes. Galoshes.
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