I wasnt feeling up to much last week, so naturally I thought that I needed a new pair of boots.
I went to the store and they had a shoe that actually fit me, never you mind that it had a 3+ inch heel and was cinnamon colored leather that goes with nothing I have. So I bought them, in haste, in illogical desperation and in hope that they would be what I needed to turn this life around into a perfect and neat story of success, stylishness, happiness and brilliance.
I put them on at home and showed Joe and he told me what I already knew but had pushed deep into my psyche. They were just too big on the calf and Joe said that I looked like Santa. I stood there looking foolish and feeling defeated. I cant buy ANYthing nice, there is always some kind of glitch or run or I get it home and they forgot to take the alarm tag off. I wanted to stomp around like a 3 year old but the neighbors would probably call the police, these puppies were large and powerful and stomping around would sound more like a Clydesdale.
I removed them and put them back in their large black box.
I returned the boots to the store later in the week and felt a weight lifted off of me. I wore my old boots yesterday and realized that they just need to be polished actually and then they will be just as perfect for me as they day I bought them. These boots I was happy and certain about, it was instant love, it was a love that lasted. Still, years later, they are pretty perfect style-wise for me, the heel is low and they make me worlds feel fancier than when I wear sneakers. So now I just have to find the polish, I know I have it here somewhere.