The Shoe That Stole Christmas

All the Shoes down in Shoeville liked Christmas a lot

But the bowling shoe, who lived just north of Shoeville, did not.

Maybe it was his color, a dingy, faded red

Or maybe he'd just had one too many bowling balls dropped on top of his head

But, I think, the greatest reason of all

Was the fact that his laces were two sizes too small

So whatever the reason, his color or his laces,

He hated the Shoeville Shoes, and their smiling Shoe faces.

The running shoe would always move too fast, he would say,

And the tap shoes, he complained, tapped from dusk until day.

The rubber boots squeaked, the high heels clicked,

In short, there was something about every shoe that made him quite ticked.

As Christmas drew nearer, he looked down from Mount Credding,

And heard all the merry sounds that all year he'd been dreading.

The sounds of Christmas jingle bells, and Christmas carols, so cheery,

That, to the bowling shoe, sounded more like a death bell's toll, dark and dreary.

"I must stop Christmas from coming," he thought. "I know! I'll make a ramshackle sleigh!

I'll slide down to Shoeville on Christmas Eve, and I'll take their Christmas presents away!"

And so he built his rickety sled, and slid down the steep hill

Moving quickly from house to house, taking all the Christmas decorations from Shoeville

At the last house, as he was clearing out, he heard a soft patter-pipper.

He turned, and saw a very young Shoe standing in the door—Glenda Glass Flipper-Slipper.

"Santa Cleat," she asked with a yawn, "Where did all of our presents go?

"It's Christmas Eve, and on Christmas Day, presents are meant to be opened you know."

The bowling shoe, froze, not sure what to do,

Then he finally decided on a quick lie or two.

"My dear little Shoe," he said with a smile

"Santie Cleat is going to take your presents away for a little while.

There was a factory error, so the gifts must go back

They'll be fixed and back here faster than you can say 'Mack!'"

The child looked startled, but then nodded her head,

And the bowling shoe told her she should go back to bed.

But Glenda wouldn't hear of it—she was wide awake now,

And had some questions to ask—when, where, why, how?

"Santa, where do the presents come from?" "Somewhere."

"When do you get all the presents?" "I pick them up here and there."

"Why do you only make deliveries at night?" "During the day, there's too much stress."

"How do you get to all the houses in the world in one night?" "Just lucky, I guess."

When he finally answered her questions, he patted her head,

Got her a drink, and sent her to bed,

And when she was gone, he climbed to the roof,

And took off in his sleigh, very proud of his spoof.

He rode back up to the mountain, nibbling a Christmas crumpet,

All the way up to the peak he went with his load to dump it.

The next day, the Shoes all awoke with surprise,

To see there were no presents before their eyes.

The Shoes were all sad, and you know what they do,

All the Shoes down in Shoeville all started crying—Boo Hoo!

Meanwhile, the bowling shoe, tired from the events of the night,

Was awakened by the sound that was, to him, oh so bright.

The sound of misery, of unhappiness, of glooms,

Of little Shoes sobbing in their little Shoe rooms!

As he sat on the mountain, shaking inside his box,

On the lid above him there came the softest of all knocks.

He pushed open the lid so happy he felt sick

And came face to face with Glenda Glass Flipper-Slipper, who had a bone to pick.

"You were the one who stole our presents last night, admit it!

You lied to me, I know you're the one who did it!"

The bowling shoe answered, "Yes, I stole all the stuff!

And what are you gonna do about it, you little piece of shoe fluff?"

The answer came when she marched into his box

And pulled the lid closed, locking each of the locks.

The citizens of Shoeville all gathered 'round,

And before long, they heard the awful sound

Of a terrible brawl, a horrible fight,

And they all were afraid for Glenda—what a terrible plight!

Someone ran, for if the child's glass body should break,

They would have to fix it—how? With duct tape!

Finally, the lid flew open, and out came a surprise,

The last thing any of them had expected to pass before their eyes

Not Glenda, but the bowling shoe came flying out

It was obvious he'd gotten hit with a good, strong clout

He rolled down the steep slope, all the way down in the snow,

Was he going to be all right? No one seemed to know.

Finally, Glenda popped out, huffing and puffing with all her might.

To the stunned Shoes standing around, she said matter-of-factly, "Served him right."

The moral of the story is that, even if you're made of glass,

You should still be able to kick some serious…