You Should Have Been Looking At My Boots

You saw avocados. 

You saw me pressing the avocados trying to find the perfect one.  You saw middle aged and mom jeans and the search for healthy monounsaturated fats.

 U shoulda been lookin’ at mah boots.

If you had seen my boots you would have heard the retro pounding of Judas Priest’s Rock Hard, Ride Free.  You would have felt the peculiarly brilliant words of George Saunders cut through your heart.  You would have tasted the beatnik in the Post Punk Kitchen recipe I was shopping for.  You would have seen all that and you would have wanted more.

But no.  You saw the avocados.  

You saw the brown rice and the Good Housekeeping and the fiber yogurt. You saw the coupons and the chamomile tea and the mundane.

You should have been looking at my boots.

The hipster man-boy coddled my emotions as a skilled young salesman would be expected to do with a 40-something woman who had wandered into that kind of store.   I had wanted to buy the boots since I was in 8^th grade.  Budgets and rational thinking hijacked my intentions for 30 years.  But now I sat before this hipster man-boy and listened to his prophetic chattering about my dream boots.  He told me they would be too tight.  He told me they would hurt like heck.   He told me they would stretch out and then fit like a glove.

I felt like a joke when I put them on.  He assured me I didn’t look like a skinhead at all.

I was unsure and ready to walk out the door.  He was convinced and remained admirably committed to his ultimate goal.

He grabbed me with his eyes, smiled in a particularly charming way and slowly cooed,

“Trust me. 

They will be awesome.  

You will be transformed.

You. Will. Love. Them.”

The hipster was right.  The dream boots were a nightmare.  My feet were utterly overwhelmed with agony.  The Internet promised that my pedi-torture would eventually lead to a euphoric nirvana.  I didn’t know if I was strong enough to make it to that promised land.

But I did.

The agony eventually morphed into mere pain, traveled through mildly uncomfortable and landed solidly in the hipster’s predicted vision about my boots.

They were awesome.

I was transformed.

I. Did. Love. Them.

When I put on my boots that morning I became a rock star.  I became a poet.  I was a rebel.  I was a visionary.  I had secrets and darkness and a riot in my brain.  I had insight and intensity and inspiration in my blood.  My boots and I stormed into the store that day screaming at you.  We were bold and fearless and ready to conquer.

Yeah, you should have been looking at my boots. 

You would have seen all that.

But no.  You saw avocados.




Check This Out!

The New York Times believes that Tenth of December by George Saunders is the best book you will read this year.  

This collection of short stories is different.  It is provocative.   It will make you question.  It will make you think.  It will give you some serious book withdrawal when you are done.   You really should check it out.