The Battle of the Shoe and Stocking
The Stocking was insufferable. He was a very special Christmas stocking, appliquéd with felt cut-outs of toys, covered with sequins, quite glamorous in a flashy kind of way. When the Christmas boxes were pulled down from storage, and everything was unpacked and strewn across the living room floor, he was always one of the first things hung, on a special nail over the fireplace that waited there, all year, just for him. In this family, the stocking was hung as soon as the Christmas tree was decorated, and he stayed up until the tree was taken away. "Other stockings only work a single night," he would tell the other decorations, "but I play the living room all season." He liked to sing, too, and tell jokes which weren't funny, but all the decorations laughed because they were somewhat in awe of him. After all, he was the STOCKING. There was only one of him, and he'd been handed down now through three generations of the family.
Frequently, the girl's shoes stayed in the living room overnight. They were supposed to be put properly under her bed each night, but somehow that seldom happened. Sometimes one would be under the table, and another under the couch - and once, for reasons no one could ever understand, the left shoe was placed in the refrigerator overnight, next to some left-over spaghetti sauce. He never fully recovered, and remained silent the rest of his life. But the right shoe had a fine spirit, because she used it more than the left one, especially in kickball and neighborhood games of soccer. But he dreaded Christmas, because the stocking was so mean to him.
"Tell me I'm wonderful," the stocking would purr. And all the ornaments would obediently tell the stocking how wonderful he was, but he wasn't happy until the shoe said it as well. "You're wonderful, you're wonderful," the shoe would mutter, just to shut the stocking up.
"I'd hate to be a shoe," the stocking would gloat. "I'm displayed elegantly from the mantle, while you cool your heels under - what is it tonight? The end table?"
"You're all flash and glitter," said the shoe. "At least a shoe has a sole."
"And soon I'll be filled with toys and candy, while you get filled with a foot," said the stocking. "Time for you to toe the line around here."
"You certainly are head over heels in love with yourself," said the shoe. And all the ornaments gasped in dismay, at such audacity in talking back to the stocking, who was clearly grander than anyone else.
Now, the night before Christmas eve, everyone began cleaning up the house. Toys which had lived for several days - or, in one case, two months - under the bed, or piled on top of the desk, or riding high up on the top of the bunkbed were put where they belonged. A collection of dolls from foreign countries - France, Spain, even Japan - sat nicely in a row on the shelf next to the bed, and that night both shoes were placed properly under the bed. Unaccustomed to the new arrangement, the shoe looked around, and met the eyes of the French doll. "Your scuff marks are tres jolie, very pretty," she said. "Great soccer game today," he said, embarrassed. "Picked up some new ones."
"I have heard your stocking speak out in the great room," she said. "And I have seen him once. He is very ugly." "Truer words were never spoken," said the shoe.
"We French have a great sense of style," she said. "But in France, the stocking is nothing at Christmas. It is something which is thrown in the wash, with the lingerie." "But what do the children put up for Santa Claus then?" asked the shoe. "Their underwear?" "Mais non," said the French doll, amused. "There are the holes in the underwear for the legs to go through, and everything would fall out. Don't be a stupid shoe." "Then what?" asked the shoe. "They put out their shoes," said the French doll. "And they put out their shoes in Spain too, and in the Netherlands, and in Norway the whole family puts out all their shoes together in a long row, non?, to show that they will try to get along well in the coming year."
"You're kidding," said the shoe. "Non, I am not kidding," said the French doll. "Here they put out the stocking, but then it is a barbaric country in so many ways. The clothes, mon dieu!" "You're sure about this," asked the shoe. "Look at me. I am an antique. I have great experience in the ways of the world, and some day, if you are properly placed under the bed again, I will tell you some of my history. It may shock you but then, so little is shocking anymore these days. But now I am tired," yawned the French doll, "and you too must sleep to be ready for tomorrow's football." "We call it soccer," said the shoe, and both of them slept.
The next night was Christmas eve. The girl was so excited, that although she had promised to be tidier, she left the right shoe out again, right next to the fireplace. The stocking was doing calisthenics, quite ostentatiously, stretching itself out and rolling itself up. "Gotta get in shape," said the stocking. "I'd like a little chatter from the ornaments section. Let's get the team spirit going, guys! I'm about to go on!"
The shoe bided his time. He had a plan, which if it worked, would silence the stocking at least for the rest of the season. Then they heard the patter of hooves on the roof, and a great scuffling inside the chimney, and - with rather a lot of soot spilled and grunting and groaning - Santa emerged from the fireplace. He put the big toys around the tree, and then stuffed the stocking until it almost burst with small dolls and jacks and balls and piles of candy. And then, his finger next to his nose, he disappeared back up the chimney.
"Think you can handle that?" asked the shoe. "Listen," said the stocking, "this is what I do." "Here maybe," said the shoe. "Not in France." The stocking swung over to the shoe in fury. "Not in France?" "They use shoes," said the shoe. "More dependable. Less likely to run." The stocking swung back and forth, thinking. "How about Spain? They use stockings there, of course." "Shoes," said the shoe. "Same in Netherlands. You gotta have sole for Christmas in the old country."
The stocking was swinging wildly now, around and around, and the nail was almost out of the mantel. "Norway!," he shouted. "It's cold in Norway, they have extra stockings, they'd hang them up in Norway!" "They wear 'em to bed, and the whole family puts out all their SHOES in a row for St. Nicholas." said the shoe. The stocking gave a shriek, and with that, the nail fell out, the stocking crashed to the floor, and the best toys - the ones on top - fell into the shoe. The ornaments cheered, being somewhat feeble-minded, and likely to go with whoever seemed in charge.
"Life," said the shoe, "is a contact sport." And with that, he stuck his tongue out at the stocking, closed his shoelace eyelets, and slept the peaceful sleep of the victorious.
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