I went out last weekend. A self-described hermit, it takes some
prompting to get me through the front door for more than just dog-walking. But when my friend called to invite me to a
spur-of-the-moment get-together at a neighbor’s, I said sure, love to. Lest you think I was lying through my teeth,
I actually meant it, which was a pleasant surprise in itself. There’s still hope.
It started pouring as I was
dressing, but I forced myself to continue, knowing it would stop just as
suddenly as it began, which it did.
As per a previous post, I’d
been slowly breaking in my boots during BC’s morning walks (too early for anyone
to see me stumble around). Since the
festivities were further up the hill, I imagined traversing rocky, muddy roads
and walkways, so boots were the safest footwear.
And wouldn’t you know? No sooner did I walk through the door that
one of the men said,
“Nice boots. And I’m from Texas, so I know.” Who would dispute the second part?
What a grin on my
face. Totally justified my
expenditure. Suddenly, everyone’s
attention was focused on my feet, so I pulled up my blue jeans to show off the
stitching, while telling my jukebox-story.
“Ooohhh…but tuck your jeans
inside! That’s the way we wear 'em
(here).” Now I’ve definitely got it in
my head to keep an eye out for a pair of kid’s boots to practice decorating.
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