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 water out. 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-turned-residence, which the Klingenschoen Fund maintains at no small expense — an expense I consider perfectly reasonable given the cultural enrichment I provide to this community through columns such as this one. Koko stared at the galosh for exactly eleven seconds. Yum Yum then batted it under the radiator. I felt a distinct tingle in my moustache. Something was afoot. Something galosh-related.
Are galoshes important? Of course they are. Pickax receives considerable precipitation, and the streets are often wet, particularly near the sites of the four arsons, two murders, and one suspicious disappearance that have occurred this quarter alone — a perfectly normal rate for a town of three thousand. One needs proper footwear. I myself have not purchased galoshes in some years, as I find the prices outrageous. Polly Duncan offered to buy me a pair last Christmas, and I accepted, naturally. Why shouldn’t I?
But back to galoshes. They are rubber, usually. Sometimes they have buckles. Do they have buckles? Some do. Koko has never once chewed a buckle on a galosh, which I believe demonstrates a sophisticated material intelligence that most so-called experts would fail to recognize. Meanwhile, I’ve noticed squirrels eyeing my galoshes on the porch, no doubt scheming to nest in them, the same way they’ve been systematically looting the birdfeeder I reluctantly maintain. I’ve considered writing the expense off through the Fund. My accountant assures me there’s a provision.
Who invented galoshes? Someone did. I could research this, but my moustache tells me the reader is less interested in history than in the lived galosh experience. And frankly, I’ve given Moose County quite enough of my time this week, what with the latest unexplained incident on Ittibittiwassee Road that I happened — purely by coincidence — to be driving past at the exact moment it occurred.
In conclusion, galoshes serve a purpose. They protect. They endure. And Koko approves of them, which is recommendation enough.
Galoshes.
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