Historical June 1995 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Normally the package arrives some time during the third week of each month.
I can tell what is in it because of the bold red letters on the side: HANDLE WITH CARE — SHOE OF THE MONTH CLUB.
As if it were needed, there are silhouettes of various kinds of shoes printed on the box as well. Generally the first wife knows when the package is due. Often she slips home from work in the middle of the day so that she can be here to greet the postman. Every once in a while, however, she’ll be tied up with a client and run late, coming home after me. She’ll barge into the house, throwing aside her purse, folders, datebook, and other papers. ‘Where is it?” she yells breathlessly, “I know it’s here! . Where?’ Her eyes dad around the entryway searching for the box while the papers and post-it-notes that she has tossed into the air begin to flutter all around her to the floor. It’s a scene that reminds me of what happens when you shake those little glass, water-filled, containers that have plastic snow in them. Opening the Shoe Of The Month Club box has evolved into a ritual of its own.
The wife carefully cuts the tape across the top, then gently pulls the lids apart with anticipation.
These Shoe Of The Month Club executives are no fools, because the packaging always has a shoe catalogue on top. Yep, you’ve got it, before she finds the actual shoes, she has to wade through photos of other new shoes.
Now the wife’s no fool, so she’s not deterred by mere photos when the real thing is underneath; still, like a dog remembering where the bone was buried, the wife never, ever, ever forgets where she placed the catalogue. Hours ?rid family crises can come and go, but she’ll remember where she placed the catalogue. It’s just as well because perusing shoe catalogues is her favorite form of bedtime reading. Like most of us, the wife carries painful childhood memories. No, she wasn’t sent to her room without dinner or flogged for misbehaviors.
But her hot buttons were touched just the same. You see, as a child, she wasn’t allowed to wear home the shoes that were purchased at the shoe store. Yes, hard as it is to believe, her mom actually made her put the newlypurchased shoes back in the box, where they stayed, never worn, until a special occasion.
It affects her even today.
For example, I can remember our first Christmas together.
We had gone through all of the rituals — decorated the tree, had the morning orange juice and coffee, and opened the presents — but it wasn’t right. Something was dearly nagging her.
We talked about it and she wasn’t sure what, exactly, was bothering her. Finally she said, “it’s the shoes.” “Shoes?’ I responded in my best Rogerian style.
She then proceeded to tell me how while growing up, one of her real pleasures on Christmas morning was getting to put on the new shoes that she’d purchased months before. Falling into the trap of being somewhat logical, I foolishly said, “But you’ve already worn the six pairs of shoes that you bought this month.” ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ she asked, her voice raising and her eyes widening. (She was right; I didn’t get it.) ‘These aren’t just shoes that you wear, they’re special friends. And now it’s Christmas morning and I don’t have any new friends to share the celebration with me!” I was stunned. Married at an early age, I thought I was just forming a bond between the lint wife and me.
I didn’t realize that I was also forming a relationship with all of the personalities on the shoe trees! Gulp. Nonetheless, I’ve always been considered a problem solver.
As President Clinton would say, “I felt her pain.” So without a hitch, we popped into the car and sped to the only store open on Christmas morning: Walgreen’s. Granted, the shoe selection at Walgreen’s isn’t what one can call rich or varied.
But it’s Christmas morning, and making new friends is always appropriate.
After grabbing some extras that we had to get while hurrying through the aisles, SlimFast and cigars, we found three sets of new friends to bring home, a pump and sandal and a leatherstyle brogue with red shoe laces. And the wife found a way to wear all of them before the end of the day. Is this a great country, or what?
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, June 1995.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1995_06.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
