Where is your mother?

Do galoshes still exist? Do any faithful readers know? Due to the nastiness of the road and the ensuing hail-like conditions (a pretty lame Nor'easter, but not too worry, Somerville Public Services is too busy towing cars to actually plow anything) I opted to walk into work this morning. Thus, I donned my Gortex jacket and complimented it with hat, gloves, and scarf. The sidewalks being what they are (Public Services also does not feel especially pressed to enforce the Shoveling Laws) I upgraded my usual pair of old running shoes to hardy boots and pulled over my corduroys a pair of REI waterproof pants.

This, apparently, makes me some sort of stand-out genius.

On my 25 minute walk, I saw not one other person who marked today as anything special when choosing their attire. There was the man pointy, black, dress shoes whose suit pants were dragging in the slush. There was one woman, I kid you not, who wore those clog things that did not even come up to her ankle. She chose to walk in the street. Much better than boots.

Maybe I'm a sissy. Yes, my Mother made me wear my boots and snow pants before going outside in the winter. Despite, I'm sure, some rebellious period in teens, I eventually grew up and found my Mother's wisdom had stuck. Wet feet all day at work is uncomfortable. Carry your pretty shoes to work in a plastic bag if you must. Perhaps if we gave everyone a Cubby like we had in kindergarten, they'd remember.

Hello, Jim. Welcome to the company. The board meeting begins in 5 minutes. Your cubby is the one with your last name scrawled onto a piece of yellowed masking tape. Put your He-Man lunchbox in there and come with me.