Mother Goose Goes into the Shoebox

Sometimes when a goose gets older, she forgets. She may forget what she had for dinner the night before; she may forget her children’s names; she may forget that she writes a blog. Hence my lapse in storytelling for the past few days…

Going back up to Wisconsin for one last story.

On our way home, merrily driving through the village of Black Earth, we saw this:

Oh how nice! A shoe store!

But then we saw other things.

Not just an ordinary shoe store…

My brother goose wears Red Wing boots, but this one would probably not fit him.

They must certainly have giants living in the black earth here.

And then this…a very thought-provoking image indeed. Are the boots disproportionately big or is the white stallion very small? Hmmm….

Well, of course, we stopped the Goosemobile and went inside. The interior of the store was a virtual shrine to The Shoe. This was truly the largest shoe store in the midwest, and we were duly impressed. Mother Goose dropped her camera at this point and just went dashing about like a mad goose. Every single shoe label was represented under one roof — all of my favorites were before me! How could I possibly choose just one pair? Every size and every shape — every foot could be dressed here, even my big old rubbery and webbed feet could be covered at The Shoebox.

Husband Goose found a nice pair of Florsheims to impress his feet and his clients alike. He also found socks. And some shoelaces.

Mother Goose ran in circles, flapping and honking at all the prime choices before her. Should she try on this one? Or that one? This color or that one? Flats or heels? Mocs or sandals? Boots or running shoes?

Omigooseness, TOO MANY CHOICES! Mother Goose had an anxiety attack and left the store with no new shoes…

So sad for Mother Goose…

We thank God for the “world wide web” and for the “internet” where we can shop at The Shoebox from afar. Blessings on your day today, dear and gentle reader. Stay cool. Drink lots of water. Please pray Zane’s family and friends.