I think it means something that I have been tempted lately not by pots of gold or comely young maidens, but by shoes that don’t require you to bend over and tie them.

I lust — almost sinfully so — during TV ads for sneakers you simply step into. They lure you in, and the heel counter caresses as your tootsies are tucked effortlessly into bed.

Something tells me my life would be better in so many ways if I didn’t have to bow deeply and confront the indignities associated with stiffness of the lower back. “Ooof,’’ I say, hopefully not too loud. We won’t even acknowledge the shame of another noise sometimes associated with older people descending. Mother Earth herself vents gas, and we are her children, if you follow my drift.

I stepped into a new era recently at the Listen store’s fabulous winter sale, where I found a pair of Merrell Jungle Mocs for $25 in kinda-sorta like-new condition. I don’t know how they are related to any jungle on this planet. They are the color of a northern woodchuck with a fat bottom, and have a snow tire tread. Best of all, they are step-ins, no laces, not even Velcro.

It could be pointed out that thrift stores used to sell shoes like these for 10 or 15 bucks, tops. But I don’t mind paying more for a good cause — as long as the shoes are a good fit. And so far, they are.

Fashion means little to me. I want comfort and value. Since I walk 10,000 steps a day on average, the last thing I need are achy feet. Since winter walking here is tricky, the other last thing I need is to fall and bonk my head, leaving me even more dozy than I am in other seasons.

So all I want is a pair of shoes that are: comfortable, waterproof, suitable for walking and short bursts of running, aren’t too heavy, could be used to ford a raging river in a pinch, don’t stink, are warm but not overly so, provide wicked traction, are not flashy (I’m not keen on circus colors), and have generous cushioning — but less than the mats Olympic pole vaulters fall into. They should hold up for a couple of years and, finally, look good in town or at the dump.

And so I have a small flotilla of shoes. I have accumulated them with purpose in mind. I own a pair of beat-up Hokas — another thrift store find — for house painting or mowing the lawn. The newish Hokas are for serious walks, though I am skeptical of their manic blue color and the oversized HOKA lettering that enlists me in their marketing department. I have several pairs of winter boots and shoes that are old reliable. One pair of dress shoes looks OK but is so cheaply made they make me despair for American capitalism and the loss of our shoe industry. I barely stop from shaking my fist and shouting socialist slogans when I wear them. What have they done to our shoes!

Not only that, there are hardly any shoe stores anymore, so we often have to order shoes online, where sizes and fit vary randomly. We return them and order again, and again, and so on and so forth — the circle of ill-fitting shoes.

I know I will sound like an old fogey, but I miss stores like the Shoetorium in downtown Lebanon where they would measure your feet and let you try on a few things and you could say “I’ll think about it’’ and come back maybe or not. It was a pleasant transaction. Now stores leave you to pick through boxes to find things while employees mostly check their phones as you wait on yourself.

There are exceptions. You get actual service at the locally owned sports store in West Lebanon. I can ask them what they recommend for long melancholic walks where you think of the troubles of the world, or short bursts of ragged jogging where at my age you ponder the beating of your heart — is it still purring or has it become an old clunker?

When I was a boy, sneakers were just becoming a hot consumer item. PF Flyers promised to make every kid “run faster and jump higher.” Since I wore generic sneakers from a crummy discount store, I honestly believed it might be true.

Alas, I am not much interested anymore in running faster or jumping higher. I am not in a big hurry and the ground is fine with me. Now I want comfort, value, utility. And if bending over to attend to laces is optional, even better!

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.