When my daughter left the country she left us behind and pretty much all her worldly goods, that they didn’t want to sell, at our house and her in-laws house. I cried the day she told me that she’d have to let us have my great-aunts chairs from the cottage that she painstakingly restored as her first set of kitchen chairs. We had to buy her brand new place settings from Crate and Barrel, after all, she said,
“We’ve just been married two years.”
“Okay,” I plunked out for the pricey dishes, hoping that some day she would be back home.
She gave me three different sets of boots: her UGGS, black suede short boots, and her beloved cowboy boots that she had begged for one birthday, before college. I remember the day we found them at an outlet store after pricing them at Nordstroms. They were such a find! I secretly wanted them myself. I do have a boot fascination, but I can just never give way to the prices especially if they soar over one-hundred dollars. When she gave them to me, I remember trying them on, but I just couldn’t get my right foot in near the heel, my feet are different sizes. Well, that was last January.
This weekend we were having a Tex-Mex night at church and the organizer wanted us to wear something to fit the occasion. I thought about the boots, stuck under my bed. I got out a pair of slippery nylon socks. Maybe this will work, I have lost a bit of weight. I wonder,
“Can a person lose weight in a foot?”
Dave was out-of-town visiting my son in Denver. I decide to try it. Left foot good, right foot….hmmm….I’m pulling and pulling on the top of the boot. I start stomping. The Cinderella shoe miraculously fit! Success. I was so happy that I looked somewhat authentic for the night.
I got to church and made my way across our huge parking lot to my seat in church. It was in the middle of our string of worship songs when I started feeling dizzy from the pain in my right foot. It was cramping. I sat down but the pain remained. Making my way after the service down to the room where my friends were gathered was an ordeal. I sat down next to a person I didn’t know and started talking about these horrible boots that I should have never forced over my feet. Then it dawned on me, and I said out loud,
“What if I can’t get this boot off tonight? Dave isn’t getting home until one in the morning.”
I limped to the parking lot after the chile cook-off, earlier than the rest of my friends. I raced home; I just had to get the boot off. The left foot came off easily. I started trying to pull the tight one off. After about thirty minutes of pulling, and I admit it, cursing. I set the alarm, laid down with my pointed boot facing toward the north star. When Dave came home this is how he found me… snoring away on top of the comforter.
“Hey pardner, do ya need a hand with your boot?” he inquired.
“Yep,” I responded, “these boots weren’t made for walkin.”
Snip, snap, snout…this country tale is all told out.