I’m not sure how I got mentally waylaid during my last post, but it is easier to drift off topic these days since I’m no longer being tested on most of the content I write any longer — at least formally.
“Where’s your thesis statement?” Daughter might ask.
“Stream of consciousness doesn’t require one,” I might counter. It’s an easy out.
Back to our story.
We have had some really wet weather (for us) the last few weeks, and it’s made the females in the house absolutely giddy with delight because it gives them the opportunity to wear Actual Rain Boots, as opposed to the numerous pairs of Puss ‘N Boots they seem to favor normally.
Admittedly, I may have the following timeline a bit skewed, but on those occasions when I’m actually allowed to comment on such things, I’ve tried to make the point that the blossoming boot fad of the last few years will surely date everyone to approximately Year 2010, just as platform shoes does the same for the 1970s. To this day I am still unable to banish from my mind the image of gigantic soles and heels, combined with 100% rayon print shirts. It’s a sartorial mental albatross I carry.
As far as I’m concerned, the same holds true for Crocs and Uggs. My point is that 500 years from now when a well-preserved body is pulled from a Southern California peat bog, the Dog Scientists of the future will date the pickled corpse to the late twentieth century based on the footwear alone.
The online virtual news account might read something like, “In the process of excavating the new parking lot for the San Diego-Mars Spaceport, a body was unearthed yesterday. The initial assessment points to a well-fed female of average height. Of note, the fingernails were painted with a number of designs, apparently in color, which are perhaps spiritual in nature. Based on the appearance of the images, the cat may have been an object of worship for this person. The body itself, however, was marred by the all-synthetic nature of its attendant clothing which melted or “bonded” to the skin. However, the footwear was remarkably intact, and scientists were able to discern the word “Crocs” on the soles of both shoes, which definitely links the find to the late twentieth century. The shoes were remarkably well-preserved, but their construction indicated they may have been used as some sort of punishment.”
It is with some dismay and not a little befuddlement that I have observed the Rise of Boots in our society during the last couple of years. I didn’t even really notice boots when they were tucked inside the pants leg. Isn’t that where they belong? I don’t know, but they seemed comfortable there.
But like that scene out of 2001 A Space Odyssey when the monkeys (I realize they aren’t monkeys; give me a break here) discovered they could use bones for killing, the transition of boots from inside to outside the cuff crossed some magical threshold.
I’m sorry. The first thing I have a small problem with is that so many people are wearing boots these days. It’s like a bad western movie everywhere, and I think it looks really silly.
And it seems to be getting sillier by the month. In fact, it’s becoming downright goofy. I even saw a guy recently wearing Uggs in such fashion, and a tiny little part of me wanted to slap him out of it.
“Get real, man! Have some respect for yourself.”
But Zen-me intervened, and I just went back to drinking my coffee. I figured he was publicly celebrating his own personal Pajama Day ™ — not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Which brings me back to my own casa and the aforementioned Actual Rain Boots, worn by my Spousal Unit. Never one to miss an opportunity to wear a new pair of boots during our nightly Dandy Dog walk in a Southern California downpour (what the east coast would term a “mist”), I was instead joined by a jack-booted member of the Waffen SS and not my wife. I mean these things she was wearing came right out of some 1935 Wehrmacht barracks in Berlin. I felt like shouting out a few “Seig Heils” while walking my (uh-oh) German Shepherd (Dandy Dog).
See a pattern here?
“Dear, you realize those boots are pretty funky looking, right?”
“It’s the style and they keep my feet dry.”
“Have we paid our National Socialist Party dues this year?”
That’s about where the walk, or at least the conversation, ended. Probably a good thing, at least for my own well-being.
The fact of the matter is, in some respects we are somewhat surrounded by Storm Troopers, Actual Rain Boot wearers or not.
For instance, there is the Home Owner’s Association Observation Team, which prowls my neighborhood looking for
Jews non-standard architectural deviations. Over the years, we have received a few letters from these Nazis well-meaning miscreants citizens regarding weeds (I think we’ve had as many as three at one time) in our front yard — all the while with a neighbor two doors up whose plot consists entirely of dirt and two boulders. And there’s another house up the street that was recently repainted in — get this — pink.
It’s unique, but it’s not that big of a deal because, apparently, their yard has no weeds.
So, my big plan for the summer is to paint the house purple, rip out the front yard and probably the back, as well, for good measure.
And leave it all as plain dirt.
My fervent wish going forward into the immediate future is that a Sensible Boot Uprising occurs, and they all go back under cover where they belong. Thus, we will collectively recover our wardrobe sanity, and I can worry about other, more meaningful things like should I drink Bold or Blonde this morning and how did I miss Daughter’s unhealthy fixation with cats all these years?