These Boots Aren't Made for Walkin'

As if packing up my summer dresses wasn’t hard enough, I actually had to break out my boots last weekend.

(Which begs another point - why the hell were overeager city-dwellers donning boots months ago? Like, August? When it was still summer? Does no one else mourn the loss of the shortest, bestest season like I do?)

I tried. I held off for as long as I could. I am still trying to hold off. Still wearing strappy sandals to work while I sheepishly avoid the eyes of the occasional omnipresent judgy fashionista.
Sadly, though, I had to cave last Thursday. Had to break out the boots. (But, a slightly redeeming factor: it was more for the sake of my outfit - not because it was too cold. Flats simply didn’t look as good with my Betty Draper-esque vintage threads!)

Perfect ensemble aside, you can only imagine my dual dismay. Not only had I been surreptitiously confronted by the confines of boots (outfit had not been planned!), said boots were in shambles. Shambles I say!

Yes, yes. We all know I’m a huge brat who walks to work (a fact which, I must say, has been kind of a relief lately - what with all these mass transportation terrorist threats. Scary!)

But pedestrianism is hard on the ole clodhoppers. This concrete jungle is unbiasedly unsympathetic toward even the toughest, most resilient of soles.

It’s really pretty unbelievable how expendable shoes are. Yesterday I said how I wished clothes were disposable so we wouldn’t have to wash them. But when it comes time to toss shoes or an undershirt, I must say that I have a more difficult time throwing out a pair of shiny metallic flats than a grubby white tank.

Damn you streets of NYC for making me part with my filthy, stinky, holed up, worn out shoes! I hate you! Parting is such sad sorrow - because, for them, there is no tomorrow!

We sullen city folk don’t have the liberty of driving everywhere like you lazy country bumpkins do. No, no. We must walk which means our shoes last but one season. So even though I don’t like trashing my cute shoesies, there is a time for everything. A time to buy and a time to toss.

And then there are boots. Boots are a different story.


It’s not like you can go around dropping $175 every year on a whim. Or at least I can’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. 


Should not.

Didn’t!

Such a good kid. However, last winter was a loooong time ago and I am very forgetful. So you can picture my puzzlement when I pulled out my fave black boots - not yet one year old - and saw a sizable hole in the heel. Toe worn nearly through. Soles rubbed thin.

I dug around for my only pair of brown boots and - surprise, surprise - heels were also worn down. How could I forget the state of my boots??

NYC! You ruiner of one-season-new boots! Of flats! Of flip flops! How I loathe you and your stupid, unyielding sidewalks!

But because I am very cents-ible these days (as we all should be! Hellooooooo horrible economy!), and because I do love both pairs of said, scuffed-up boots. And, well, seriously - because boots should not have a single-season-shelf-life (!!!!) - I did the responsible thing

Just call me recessionista! I brought both my boots to the cobbler across the street.

I managed to conjur up a timid, embarrassed grin while he judged the shit out of my boots, shaking his head, muttering some unintelligible Eastern European curses under his breath. He scolded me with his eyes. Schooled me. I felt like a child, like I had drawn all over my brand new Trapper Keeper and Mom was pissed.

But hey, $40 and four spanking new heels later, I’m in business.

Apparently you don’t have to be one of the Twelve Dancing Princesses to wear out the soles of your shoes...you just have to be one of Eight Million Prancing Pedestrians.