Don't judge a lady...

...until you've walked two moons in her red cowboy boots. Because you may realize that they were not quite as comfortable as you first may have thought, and then perhaps you'll have a little more sympathy, because what lady can be responsible for her actions when her feet hurt?

I myself have a pair of red cowboy boots, and they're quite cute. The fact that I procured them for a mere $2 further increases their appeal. And they are rather comfortable, contrary to what I thought when I first pulled them on this morning. "Augh!" I screamed, "these here boots be tight as Keira Knightley's corset!" However, since I was late and had my outfit all coordinated to match, I wore them anyway.

By midday the boots fit fine, whether due to shrunken feet or stretched boot I'll ne'er know. Fine, mind you, is a different level of comfort than "hot damn I sure would like to walk a while uphill in these shoes!" Well just dandy for waltzing around town in (yes, I waltz. And listen to Death Cab for Cutie on my iPod. And almost get ran over by a logging truck.), but less so for walking a mile and a half, up several hills, which is what I thought I had to do. (Oh, by the way, it was super-hot. And I had a jacket. A black one. And a big black purse.)

Apparently, God helps those who wear bad walking shoes, for, as I was laborously lugging myself up the first few hills, who should come a-drivin' along but my fair father. Hitchin' a ride with him entailed being driven down the hills I just had ascended ("O, the futility of life!" spake I), and then back up, all the way to my home spice home. Where, upon arrival, I discovered that my dear red boots had left tacky brown spotches on my white stockings. Oh well, I guess you can't have everything.

Gitin' along with the little dogies,
Bee Electric

P.S. Why wasn't there a "Home Spice"? She could have been the Martha Stewart of the Spice Girls. Except for, you know, the insider trading and house arrest.