Last February I found these gorgeous boots, and I bought them immediately because I am a member of Bossy's Poverty Party, and thus I am very frugal. That very day, because God apparently loves the frugal, I fell down the stairs and got another style of boot:
I got to wear this bad boy for, oh, about twelve weeks and three and one fourth days, if I had to give you a rough estimate. The time just flew by! My doctor also gave me the excellent news that I have a genetic blah-blah, which causes the bones in my blah to blah-blah: to sum up I am a foot mutant, and will probably break my foot again which will require surgery, and by the way, about wearing all those glamour shoes in my closet? Not so much. I paraphrase.
Not that I have much opportunity for glamour shoes, but it's nice to dream, and there has never been a day so bad that a kicky little pair of red pumps didn't make it seem just a small bit brighter. I wear these while I'm gardening.
Well, last week I defied the medical skeptics and (dramatic pause) wore the new boots! So far I have lived through the ordeal. The praise for my footwear was epic at the middle school back-to-school night, let me tell you. [Like my oldest girl's toes?]