It’s A Girl Thing
I wasn’t looking to replace them. I wasn’t searching for boots at all. But there they were, just sitting all adorable in an open box, shiny and alluring. “They” are my new shortie, fake croc, dark brown boots and what’s special about them is that they’re awfully darn close to looking like a previous pair that got wrecked on a Bay escalator. Those were my favourites and I never imagined I’d find another pair like them!
Guys I’ve known just seem to pull on their clothes and get on with it. At some point, perhaps in the purchasing process, they decided the jeans/sweater/jacket/shoes looked good on them and that’s how the items will forever remain in their minds. That’s how it SEEMS.
Women are not so much like that. We fuss and pull and check from the rear and watch for signs of wear and looseness and tightness and not just with the fabric but with our own seemingly ever-changing bodies. It appears that a man can be reasonably certain he will be the same size in the morning that he was the night before. Women can never be so certain. It’s strange but it’s true!
So when you find that outfit, that piece, that “thing” that fits well in every occasion and just works for you, you want to hang on to it like grim death, or until styles change to such a drastic degree that it just looks plain goofy. We remember previous “finds” like they were old friends.
There was the bright blue dress I bought in Vegas for $30 that had little tiny buttons all the way down the back. It was gorgeous and looked at once very expensive and damn sexy. At a crowded house party after a staff Christmas party, someone spilled some sort of thick liquor on it that left a permanent stain. There was the long, deep red skirt that went with anything from a sweater to a sleeveless tank top. It got caught in a car door and shredded beyond repair. And the faux fur black and white jacket that drew compliments every time I wore it – until one so-called friend told me it looked like the one Cruella DeVille made out of dog hides in 101 Dalmations!
The croc boots were beautiful. The pattern was separated by thin black lines so the deep brown boots looked totally smashing with black or with brown. Then one day as I innocently rode an escalator, the teeth of a step grabbed hold of the back of a heel and only panicked kicking tore me free seconds before I would have tumbled onto the steel. But the boot was lost. A footwear tragedy! The new boots don’t have the black-line component but they are closer than I ever imagined I could get to my beloved previous ones. Hello new boots. Welcome to the closet of love!
Be careful what you wish for! These new boots are HOT – not just in looks, but on my feet! I wore them the next day and I nearly passed out in a mall after walking around a bit. Whew! My feet were smokin’!!
