Shoes Tell A Lot About This Man

The weird thing is, I’m not even a Shoe Person.

At least, not in the way that a lot of persons are Shoe Persons. I know some women who believe that the way to cure depression is to go out and purchase new pumps. Never, not once, have I done that.

Of course, I’m not even clear on what a “pump” is.

I frankly detest shopping for shoes. I wear the same scuffed generic black shoes to work every day. I am not, in short, Imelda Marcos.

Then why is my closet floor an absolute pyramid of shoes? Why is this pyramid so high? Why do I cause a little shoe avalanche whenever I toss anything in there?

I guess it’s because I hate throwing shoes away as much as I hate buying them. Some of these shoes date back to the era of spats.

So I decided to risk my life by diving in there and doing a shoe inventory. The results were sobering - 19 pairs of footwear, one for almost every occasion, despite the fact that I wear most of them on no occasion.

Here’s what I found:

One pair running shoes: Fancy pair with neon stripes.

Another pair running shoes: Beat-up 15-year-old pair, just in case I might want to run somewhere less formal.

One pair Red Wing Irish Setter boots: My beloved all-purpose outdoors boots, so old, cracked and frayed that they can no longer be worn. Kept because of their sentimental value.

One pair down booties: Horrendous, shapeless lumps of puffy nylon, designed to keep feet toasty warm. I don’t wear them for fear I will frighten innocent people who come to the door.

One pair softball cleats: For maximum traction while running out pop-ups.

Another pair softball cleats: Worn-out, wrinkled pair I kept on the theory that they would provide good traction wading in trout streams. Theory turned out to be false.

One pair black rubber-soled walking shoes: Everyday shoes worn to office, church, weddings, funerals and, in emergencies, for good traction in trout streams.

Another pair black rubber-soled walking shoes: Previous everyday shoes, full of holes, kept for purposes of having yet another pair of worthless shoes in my closet.

One pair white Converse tennis shoes: For casual wear with jeans.

One pair old Converse tennis shoes: Crusty, cracked pair, kept with the idea that my new pair would stay cleaner if I kept the old ones for rototilling, painting, mud-wrestling, etc. Unfortunately, I accidentally used the new pair for rototilling, mud-wrestling, etc., so I can no longer distinguish the new pair from the old pair with any certainty.

One pair moosehide slippers: Soft, fleece-lined slippers made from large surly animal. Useful for those times when you want your feet to sweat.

One pair Salomon hiking boots: New boots purchased after Red Wings died and went to Boot Hill. Used for hiking rugged Bitterroot trails and going to Albertson’s.

One pair cowboy boots: Tall-heeled western boots useful for attending country music shows and adding two inches to height.

One pair cross-country ski boots: Fancy-looking space-age footwear that looks like something Flash Gordon would wear if he were a member of the Village People.

One pair old cross-country ski boots: Ripped, moldy pair kept around for those frequent moments when a guy wants to go to Albertson’s dressed in elf booties.

One pair hard-soled moccasins: All-purpose footwear, equally uncomfortable for walking, hiking, beach-combing and lounging.

One pair golf spikes: Sharp-looking athletic shoes with natty little flaps over the laces. Two sizes too small, which may explain why I am such a lousy golfer.

One pair L.L. Bean gum boots: Rubber-bottomed boots designed for slush, i.e., everyday formal-wear in Spokane in January.

One pair black patent leather loafers: Yes, they have tassels. I inherited them, OK?

In the wake of this embarrassing inventory, I have just one brief announcement to make: No more Imelda Marcos jokes, as long as I live.

, DataTimes