The Not So Industrious Love Affair

I had one this weekend. It was me and boots. Maybe I should capitalize that first letter ‘B’.
I have a problem by becoming attached to my possessions. I don’t like having to many of them – so if I do, I wear them to their last threads and throw them out as soon as possible – like extra bottles of shampoo. But if I have the perfect amount I’ll treat them wonderfully, use them sparingly, and be jealous and irrational when other people look at them and attempt to “borrow” or “try” them – like jeans.

Two and half years exactly prior to this approximate day – I had a love affair with a pair of boots. I ogled them at every location (they were minions of a franchise). Beautiful, simple and not deadly pointy but flat footed with ridges on the bottom mostly for looks but oddly anchoring to icy grounds.

Three wonderful winters we lasted together. Luckily because of my unnecessarily small feet, I shared them with no one. Sometimes my toes froze in the improper linings, but they were only too happy to be frozen because I was in love. Especially because the lining was striped corduroy. They were beautiful both inside and out. They lasted through all bars – modern, rock, country. They lasted through ridiculous and serious dancing. Oh I loved them.

Last winter however – as I cried tears of sorrow and remembrance, I cut one off my leg as the zipper was broken – sealed shut by age and zipperly arthritis. Only the left boot – but I didn’t keep the right as I know I would never find its match again, and they should both be retired at once – like related salt and pepper shakers.

I have lamented the coming winter – without a pair of sexy understated friends to keep me company – and to make sure I know I’m alive when I freeze. But yes – in the deep heart of summer I walked past a designer shoe store. And they were there in modified form. Flat footed to be sure, a shade of darker caramel, with the added flair of shine and strapped buckles. Three sassy, saucy shackles. What could be more glorious but a modified love affair? I want to know. I saw them, and immediately considered the adoption process complete – it was only to be a matter of time.

As the store was closed because I discovered them at 1 am after a jolly cup of tea I dreamt sweet dreams of the fields we would roam with nice skirts and pants – except short pants so as to show off the aesthetic bits to curious onlookers.

The next morning, I biked to the store as I was too impatient to walk. Wishing and hoping and praying they would be under 200 dollars as that is all I could consciously spend, all that needs to be spent by a petty girl like me on frivolous décor.
I walked into the store, touched the luxurious, waterproof leather and flipped it over.
As Boot was turning I imagined the love affair. The rain that would never hit the skin of my legs, nor snow bits. I prayed that the price was right – I hadn’t even tried them on in case it was not to be.

I gasped, my eyes widened. Oh Boots!
400. PLUS taxes.
I bit my lip hard, gazed blindly at other stilettos and shoes with nasty ass glitter, smiled, teared and left the shop and its keeper to their unnecessarily expensive foot wear. It wasn’t even lined with striped corduroy. How heinous.

Then I nursed the pain with my most comforting solace (or addiction). Dried fruit pieces and a gander at the movie Pride and Prejudice. If I couldn’t dream about Boots without being charged a nominal fee then a Mister Darcy would have to do.
He causes sheer joy and Boots – momentarily forgotten. Until the sale season that is.