03 September, 2010


I didn't think I'd be on the verge of 28 and fall head-over-heels in love with a pair of boots before falling head-over-heels for a man.  But, alas, it's true.  I walked into Nordstrom today feeling a bit tired, my energy sapped, but one glance at the boot collection quickly perked me up.  A certain pair stood out like a diamond in the rough (except the rough wasn't very rough at all).  I couldn't take my eyes off of them; they were that beautiful, the leather so lush, so distressed, and so perfect with my leggings.  And so I skipped an iced latte from the cafe and vowed to live on Ramen noodles and bananas (for a week, at least), maybe even (yeah, right) downgrading to Wal-Mart for essentials...  
And unlike a member of the opposite sex, these boots don't have any say when I make them all mine.  Who knows?  Maybe the boots will get me the man...

Perhaps he didn't like my hair or selection of pre-concert treats.  Or maybe my vocabulary was too ladylike.  Or, he really was offended when I playfully punched his arm...  But after an invite, and free ticket, to the Ray Lamontagne and David Gray concert at Red Rocks, I surely deserve the I'm just not that into you courtesy call, right?  Another one bites the dust.  Which, by the way, the boots I wore that night are still covered in it.  A surefire sign?  Perhaps... *

*The Muse is tongue-in-cheek, really.  Someone once asked, I thought I should clarify.  Just in case.

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