Today was my honey's birthday. Happy birthday, sweetheart! This is the 21st time we've celebrated S's birthday together. It was a great day.
After dinner, I asked S if he liked his presents OK. He said he did
As I was getting the dogs ready for their evening walk, he asked me, "What's the best present I ever gave you?"
Now, you must know that S LOVES to buy presents. He excels at it. I have jewelry. I have music boxes. I have electronics. They're all really lovely.
I thought about it for a second. "My boots."
"You're a very strange woman. You know that, right?" He was smiling.
Six years ago, S bought me a pair of Cabela's rubber boots, with Thinsulate liners. They are supposed to come up to my upper calf, but it's a pain the neck to pull them up that high -- most likely because I have the calves of a middle linebacker -- so I fold them down to mid-calf height. I can slide my feet in and out of them in a fraction of a second. I will tell you that they look utterly ridiculous on my feet.
I love them.
Don't get me wrong. it's not that I don't appreciate all the really lovely luxuries he's given me over the years. I mean, who doesn't love emeralds?
But I wear these boots outside, at least once, every day. Year round. And at least once a week, as I'm hosing something oogey off of them, I silently thank S for my empowering footwear.
Because my rubber boots make me fearless.
I can walk across fallen branches without injury. I wade through mud and things nastier. The morning dew that would soak my Keds just beads off my rubber boots. I stride with confidence through poison ivy, stinging nettle, thistles -- you name it.
I can wear them, without socks, in the coldest snow. And even in the deepest snow, when I roll them up to full height.
My neighbors have witnessed them as they adorn my feet under my jeans, sweat pants, dresses, shorts, and even my pajamas.
I can help anyone do anything outdoors, as long as I have my rubber boots on. I am even empowered to drive the tractor.
They make me a better person.
So if you see me tromping around the yard in my work clothes, or walking the dogs at midnight in a pair of pink Scottie Dog jammies, you can bet on one thing: I'll be wearing my goofy rubber boots underneath.
And I'll be powerful in them.
After dinner, I asked S if he liked his presents OK. He said he did
As I was getting the dogs ready for their evening walk, he asked me, "What's the best present I ever gave you?"
Now, you must know that S LOVES to buy presents. He excels at it. I have jewelry. I have music boxes. I have electronics. They're all really lovely.
I thought about it for a second. "My boots."
"You're a very strange woman. You know that, right?" He was smiling.
Six years ago, S bought me a pair of Cabela's rubber boots, with Thinsulate liners. They are supposed to come up to my upper calf, but it's a pain the neck to pull them up that high -- most likely because I have the calves of a middle linebacker -- so I fold them down to mid-calf height. I can slide my feet in and out of them in a fraction of a second. I will tell you that they look utterly ridiculous on my feet.
I love them.
Don't get me wrong. it's not that I don't appreciate all the really lovely luxuries he's given me over the years. I mean, who doesn't love emeralds?
But I wear these boots outside, at least once, every day. Year round. And at least once a week, as I'm hosing something oogey off of them, I silently thank S for my empowering footwear.
Because my rubber boots make me fearless.
I can walk across fallen branches without injury. I wade through mud and things nastier. The morning dew that would soak my Keds just beads off my rubber boots. I stride with confidence through poison ivy, stinging nettle, thistles -- you name it.
I can wear them, without socks, in the coldest snow. And even in the deepest snow, when I roll them up to full height.
My neighbors have witnessed them as they adorn my feet under my jeans, sweat pants, dresses, shorts, and even my pajamas.
I can help anyone do anything outdoors, as long as I have my rubber boots on. I am even empowered to drive the tractor.
They make me a better person.
So if you see me tromping around the yard in my work clothes, or walking the dogs at midnight in a pair of pink Scottie Dog jammies, you can bet on one thing: I'll be wearing my goofy rubber boots underneath.
And I'll be powerful in them.
1 comment:
Yep. The Good Shoes take you anywhere you want to go.
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