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Booty Call

 

I can’t make decisions.  Honestly, I mull over the tiniest details: Should I quit my job and start a llama farm? Should I swim the English Channel? Should I take up with ‘Jake33’ from that chat room knitting?  Then there are the agonizing choices, such as which winter boots to buy.  It never ends.

 Because Canadian winters last roughly 11 ½ months, we are compelled to drink tons of anti-freeze hot chocolate, throw ourselves into traffic our work, and live in unflattering, bulky outerwear. To ease my winter blues, I was determined to get a new boy toy pair of boots. I’ve been shopping  for weeks and my living room  looks like Aisle 5 of Winners: I’ve dragged  home every gorgeous stock boy  boot that speaks to me.  It’s exhausting. I need to make the booty call.

Finding the perfect boy toy boot is challenging. It must look good, feel good, and do light housework be cheaper than a sedan. The first pair I lugged home was a black, high heel, pointy toe, calf-squeezing number a half size too small. Once my feet stopped bleeding, I rented a hunky firefighter crowbar to haul me out of them.  Too tight. Then there was the chocolate brown Italian suede ankle booty with a chunky heel that came with George Clooney a matching purse. I wanted them so bad but my husband suggested I throw myself into traffic find something cheaper.

Suddenly I knew exactly what I wanted: a divorce knee-high, black leather riding boot with 1 1/4 inch heel, 2- inch thick buckle strap accents, 1/8 inch of alpaca lining, and full- length silver zipper. It turns out sales clerks “don’t carry” such a boot.  Well, I “don’t carry” pepper spray either.  I took it upon myself to douse them until security arrived all in a huff rummage through their storage room for my boots.  Cripes.  I’d love to know where the ‘serve’ part of the service industry went…

Three weeks, a call from VISA informing me I’m homeless cut off, and two disorderly conduct snafus later, and I’m down to 26 potential pairs. Each night I come home with another shoe box and ask my husband why the hell he didn’t go to med school so I could afford all of them what he thinks, parade around in them with different outfits, and do a pole dance for the stock boys the dishes.

Well, I finally made a booty call last night.  Although the sex was fantastic, it didn’t help my indecision one iota.  I still can’t figure out which stock boy boots to keep!  I am not a quitter. I will persevere until I meet ‘Jake 33’ wearing nothing but my new boots find the perfect boots.  

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7 thoughts on “Booty Call

  1. This speaks volumes to me, as one who has just returned to boot country after 5 years in sunny sandal land. Yesterday I bought classic black leather desert boots (for a polished but functional look as I walk the streets of my new city) only to find that today I now need a pair of hip waders (as I splash through the puddles of my new city) and it hasn’t even snowed yet…..

    P.S. Why not keep them all? (but if you have to choose, those suede ones are pretty sweet).

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