Annie, Go Pick Mama Up a Pair of Those Red Shoes . . .

So, Greg and I are driving, listening to Christmas music ('cause that's what one does this time of year . . . unless you're my Dad, then you probably started annoying coworkers months ago playing the stuff since like July or something. Just one of the many reasons he's one of my heroes.) On comes the song "The Christmas Shoes" . . . you know the one, right? Well, Greg didn't. I was all, "You know, the song, about the kid, trying to buy some shoes for his dying Mother." Greg's staring at me blankly. "You know, he needs to get the shoes right away, 'cause she's going to die soon, and he wants her to look pretty for Jesus if she goes to meet him tonight." Now he's just looking at me like I'm crazy. And I'm starting to tear up a little, maybe a little more than a little. Blatant emotional manipulation through song story telling should only exist in country music, not on my Christmas stations!

But how can one picture a small, dirty, poorly dressed child saying stuff like . . .

Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight

. . . and not get a little teary. Heart of stone I tell you, only way to avoid it. Mom meeting Jesus on Christmas Eve . . . I could barely recount the story to Greg without pondering my maternal role and mortality and imagining my two beautiful daughters growing up without their own Mother. Barely keeping it together.

At this point Greg is still staring at me like I'm crazy. And I'm trying hard to wipe away tears casually, when it suddenly hits me . . .

"Wait a second? So, this kid's Mom is dying. On Christmas Eve. And he's at the mall?!" This struck me as wrong in so many ways. His Mom is dying and he's away from home, all alone? Are there other siblings gathered around their Mother's bed? Does nobody notice his absence? How'd he get to the mall? Plus, the practical part of me was all, "Why does she need new shoes if she's going to be dead in the next 24 hours?! What a horrible waste of money when this family is obviously struggling." I told Greg if I'm dying he is not allowed to buy me any fancy new red shoes, that money goes towards our kids' college funds!

Not surprisingly, at this point, Greg is still staring like the crazies have taken up permanent residence in his wife's head.

Something's not adding up. Did they not notice the kid leaving? Are they now all freaking out at home, watching Mom die, and calling the police to help find their 7 year old, 'cause that would be like the worst Christmas Eve ever. Or, do they know where the kid is at? "Hopefully he'll be back from the mall soon . . . don't know how much longer we have and Mom's still waiting on those shoes." Shouldn't they have sent him with an adult chaperon. Possibly one with enough money to purchase said shoes? And time is short, shouldn't the family be all gathered together. Or is the father so distraught by losing his wife that he isn't even aware of the the missing child? And the kid is dirty and unkempt . . . obviously the father isn't able to handle all the stress in his life, but isn't their a grandparent, neighbor or something that can make sure this kid is fed and bathed regularly? And not wandering off to malls with potentially bad timing?

Then it hit. It's a con. A family of grifters. It's genius. Mommy wants a new pair of some hot red wedges, but there's no money. Dress the kid up just this side of street urchin, have him rummage through his pockets and pull out two bucks and change, turn pathetically to the person behind him in line and tell his sad, sad story. Big wide eyes, one lone tear. Well meaning stranger, on verge of tears ('cause you just said you want Mommy to be pretty when she meets Jesus tonight, how does one's emotional defenses stand a chance?! Especially if the store has Christmas music playing overhead), forks over the money. Kid brings shoes back to Mom and gets to go out for a Happy Meal as a reward for a job well done. Win-win. Sexy new shoes for Mom, or maybe she returns the shoes later, and goes and buys some booze. Whatever the end game, the con is kinda genius.

See if that song can ever makes me cry again!! I've won this round . . .

Greg's staring at me like I'm crazy again.