Oh, Dem Golden Slippers

Steven suffered from a serious lack of traction in today's game, so we set off to buy new cleats (and Neosporin for all his scrapes). His eye was caught by some Nike Total something-or-others that have the lacing off center "so it won't mess up your kicks." The shoes fell within my price limit, so okay, but they were SHINY SILVER! They looked like soccer shoes for the Tin Man in Oz, a knight in shining armor, or maybe Freddy Mercury. I was dreading the conversations on the sidelines:

"Which one is your son?"

"Well, he's the one with silver shoes."

"Ohhhh."

I asked Steven if the reasoning for the design was to create glare in the opponent's eyes, and he said, "These are too small. Do they have any eleven-and-a-half or twelves?" And so my tale ends happily. The clerk and I couldn't find any larger silver shoes. Steven was satisfied with black ones. I did a little tap dance in my ruby slippers on the way out to the parking lot.

Oh, Dem Golden Slippers
Composed by James A. "Jimmy" Bland in 1870
Very popular minstrel tune of the 1880s, especially in the northern bluegrass tradition

Oh, my golden slippers am laid away
Kase I don't 'spect to wear 'em till my weddin' day,
And my long-tailed coat, dat I loved so well,
I will wear up in de chariot in de morn;
And my long white robe dat I bought last June,
I'm gwine to git changed Kase it fits too soon,
And de old grey hoss dat I used to drive,
I will hitch him to the chariot in de morn.

Chorus: Oh, dem golden slippers! Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers dat I'm gwine to wear be-case they look so neat;
Oh, dem golden slippers! Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers I'm gwine to wear to walk de golden street.

Oh, my ole banjo hangs on de wall
Kase it ain't been tuned since way last fall,
But de darks all say we will hab a good time,
When we ride up in de chariot in the morn;
Dars ole Brudder Ben and Sister Luce,
Dey will telegraph de news to Uncle Bacco Juice,
What a great camp meetin der will be dat day,
When we ride up in de chariot in de morn.

So, it's goodbye, children, I will have to go
Whar de rain don't fall er de wind don't blow,
And yer ulster coats, why yer will not need,
When yer ride up in de chariot in de morn;
But yer golden slippers must be nice and clean,
And yer age must be Just sweet sixteen,
And yer white kid gloves yer will have to wear,
When yer ride up in de chariot in de morn.