I had been investigating the Internet, searching cyberspace for the perfect pair. I am particular about buying bovine boots and I was insistent about them being black, with a bit of definition of the back of the boot, the heel. I finally found some fantastic footwear. The new boots arrived just in time for my return to work, dressed as Cruella Deville. I loved the boots from the moment I opened the box. The left boot fit as if it were made for me. The right boot, well, fit as if it were made for someone with a skinnier foot. I figured it was because my right foot is my bigger foot. There was no way I was sending those boots back. Maybe they would expand with wear, I thought. If necessary, I would even take them to the shoe man down the street to get stretched.
I wore the boots with pants tucked in one day, and with a skirt the next. I felt like a new me. Never mind that I hadn't been to work for six weeks and I should have felt that way, I attributed my hip outlook on life to my new boots. The day I went to the Museum of Glass to watch famous glassblower Dale Chihuly, I felt so artsy in my boots and skirt that I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the museum bathroom, trying to take a picture of myself rocking my outfit. Due to my inexperience at selfies, the best picture was blurry. [Upon reflection, I realize that I have spent a good portion of my life playing at one thing or another in bathrooms, see my admission here.]Even with all of the action my boots were getting, that right boot remained considerably more snug than the left boot. One day there was even some extra residue on my sock when I pulled my foot out of the boot, and I thought that it was leather crumbs caused by the friction of my Smartwool sock inside the tight boot. I figured a few more outings in these bad boys would fix that problem.
Last Monday morning I was deeply engulfed in my morning routine. I had saved my contact lens insertion for last so that I could read important documents, like the lunch menu and the weather forecast, with ease. As I was bending down to zip my boot, I noticed something light-colored and wrinkled in my boot. My first thought was that it had been so tight that I was somehow folding the leather down into the foot compartment. I leaned further down for a closer look and to smooth out the wrinkled leather. LO AND BEHOLD! I reached in and pulled out the cardboard insert! I felt like Little Jack Horner, but a lot less messy.
Aunque la mona se vista de seda, mona se queda.
Dress a monkey as you will, it remains a monkey still.
