If it hadn’t have been for the mules, the doll house would not have been a catastrophe. You understand, I’m sure, that I’m not speaking of those animals &uot;you stand behind before you find what the legs behind be for.&uot; No, indeed, I’m referring to those elegant boudoir slippers, open at the heel and accented at the front and instep with a fluff of fur or feathers.

I didn’t meet with them at home. My mother wore neat little leather bedroom slippers, with heels and a severe leather bow in front.

My mother felt that running a house was like any other career and should be faced when one was fully dressed with one’s make-up on.

Back to the mules. I was 10 years old and a fifth-grader. Christmas had not yet come, but Christmas vacation had started. I was spending the afternoon at the home of one of my classmates.

Her father was working, her mother was making cookies in the kitchen, her brother, home from college for the holiday, was out with his friends. Proud of having a grown-up brother, my friend smuggled me into his bedroom and showed me the gift he was going to give his girlfriend for Christmas.

The mules! Black satin, they were, trimmed in soft downy feathers in a deep rose color. I was absolutely stunned. A whole new world opened to me, an exciting movie show world. More than anything in the world I wanted a beautiful pair of feather-trimmed black satin mules.

I didn’t have anything like real hope. Small for my age, I was still wearing horrible bedroom slippers shaped like bunny rabbits, the ears framing my ankles. I did manage to steer my mother into the shoe department when we had ventured to a department store so she could finish her last-minute shopping before Christmas.

I even managed to point out a pair of mules to her like the ones my friend’s brother was giving to his lucky girl friend. They cost $13. &uot;I don’t pay that much for your school shoes,&uot; my mother protested. &uot;I do hope you’re not going to grow up to be like your Aunt Jessie. She always likes such fluffy things.&uot;

No, I didn’t get the mules for Christmas. I got a doll house and all the furniture. It wasn’t exactly a disappointment. I’d been wanting a doll house for a long time. I just felt that it was a terribly childish gift. I was ashamed to be young and &045; as I felt &045; grubby. Not sophisticated enough for satin mules.

When I went back to school after vacation and everyone talked about gifts received, I didn’t mention the doll house. Said I’d been given mostly clothes. Everyone felt sorry for me, I knew, because who wants clothes for a Christmas present? I did. I wanted a pair of black satin mules.

All was not lost, though. The lady next door had been to Omaha and bought herself an extremely expensive pair of black satin evening pumps. She couldn’t get them in her size. They were too small and she didn’t want her husband to find out she’d paid that much for a pair of shoes that didn’t fit.

As usual I was hanging around reading one of her books. I looked up from my book just as she looked up from her shoes. You’ve heard of eye-contact? We had eye-contact. Did we ever!

The shoes had fancy buckles on them. Those she took off. Then she put the shoes back in their box, handed the box to me and said, &uot;Go down the back stairs and don’t let any of my nosey kids see you. Hide them in your closet and don’t even show then to your mother. You can play dress-up or something with them. Just keep it all to yourself.&uot;

I’d had a kewpie once that was dressed in an Indian costume of rose-colored feathers. I still had the feathers. I even managed to get them attached to the shoes. To my uncritical eyes I’d acquired what I wanted.

Whatever other shortcomings my family had, they respected each others’ privacy. Those feathered shoes, mules I called them, remained my secret until I grew to fit them.

Two years later when we were in the seventh grade, a number of my friends received doll houses for Christmas. Inwardly I felt it was terribly immature of then.

Love Cruikshank is an Albert Lea resident. Her column appears Thursdays.