That deserves all capital letters. It truly does. Because I want to proclaim it to the world. I Am In Love. With my new boots.
My personal tradition, of the last ten years or so, is to buy a new pair of boots to celebrate my birthday. So I begin the hunt in July, when all the best boots are in the magazines and stores. This is one of my favorite parts of the whole Birthday Boot tradition, visiting all the shoe porn sites to find the perfect pair. Deciding which color, heel height, style--all part of the delicious process. But there is one absolutely unchangeable element: the boots MUST be knee high. Not over-the-knee (which is very big right now, and NOT for women who are shorter than most 5th graders) or calf height (which accentuates the "athletic" calf and makes one look squat) or ankle height, (which is, again, all the rage right now and can only be worn by an 85 pound waif in an empire waist dress and red tights.) Knee high for tucking in the jeans. Knee high for bringing on the attitude. KNEE HIGH, damn it, because really, why bother otherwise?
Now, while I do enjoy spending money (which is why Sugar Snow Joe keeps all the band money at his house) there are certain things I will not spend a lot on. I have not ever purchased a lamp anywhere but the Christmas Tree Shop. I buy my sheets and curtains at IKEA. All rugs come from Target or Lowe's. I shop for the bulk of my clothes, as well as the family's clothes, at Saver's. Shoes--the dress shoes I occasionally have to buy, the flip flops I buy for the summer, I will pay marginally more for, usually at Marshall's. But the boots fall into their own category. I have a budget, yes, but it is far more elastic than any other limits I set. The margin of error is generous for the boot budget because, a) boots last for years, and my OCD requires that I take meticulous care of each and every pair, and 2) it's my birthday. So, I suppose, one could make an argument that it doesn't really count as a budget. I don't buy that argument, but I can see where you are coming from.
This year, this GLORIOUS year, I found the most amazing boots. I saw them last year, could not fit them into my "budget", but I did not forget them. I could never forget such perfection. Now, markedly cheaper because of their "last season" status, I snapped them up. But buying shoes is like online dating, and what you see is definitely not always what you get. So I was wary, of course, that they would not be as remarkable as I thought. And my worry was all for naught. They are camel suede, lace up the front with an industrial strength zipper for on-and-off ease, three inch heel, right up to the knee. And--BONUS--comfortable!! I wore them as soon as I got them. Wore them around the house. Put on my Winter jeans (the tucking-in-the-boots jeans) and walked around the house in them. Mr. Simone B. approved wholeheartedly. LZ approved, and I believe she may have heard a chorus of angels. Neighbor Ken approved, in his droll, understated way. Even Small, my harshest critic, approved, although she did comment that I wouldn't be able to skateboard in them. Eventually, I took them off, and they are now a shrine on my desk, right next to my computer screen. To the right of them sits a bag of M&M's. At the toe is a can of Diet Coke and a fresh straw. My lip balm. My cell phone. And my Cleveland snow globe.
Last night, at my dear friend Ms. P's Coming Of Age party, it was cold. It was downright cold outside. And all I could think was, Only 3 more weeks. 3 more weeks until my birthday, and the official beginning of my boot wearing season. October 1, folks, and the suburbs will be in danger of being overwhelmed by my Boot Coolness. Prepare yourselves.