Just the other day, Mike and I were perusing one of his Man Rags (Maxim or something similar) and I pointed to a scantily clad woman in some sexy knee-high boots. “I want a pair of those!” His eyes bulging and mouth agape, he agreed, “YEAH, get them! They’re HOT.”
Much easier said than done. You see, while I’m not a woman of large stature, my parents lovingly blessed me with a pair of full and muscular calves — the kind that would never fit into a pair of standard knee-high boots. Curse you, genetics! I don’t have kankles though; my ankles are just fine. Thank you.
A couple of months ago, I looked on longingly while a large woman tried on some lovely knee high-boots. Unexpectedly, she asked me what I thought. “They look great on you!” I said. They did look good, but secretly I was crying inside. Why can’t I have little legs? Yes, I know it’s shallow, but I want knee-high boots too.
Yesterday, I went to DSW with Phaedra. So many times I’ve gone there to find shoes — and why not? They have thousands of shoes, yet I usually leave with nothing. I’ve spent many an hour in there in vain. Anyhoo, I found a beautiful pair of brown suede Ralph Lauren knee-high boots (not what I was looking for at all) in the clearance section. It couldn’t hurt to try them on… right? I slipped the left boot on my foot, reached for the zipper, and it slid easily up my leg half way, to the calf. Sliding it over my calf wasn’t impossible, but the fit was snug. I thought maybe, just maybe the right leg would fit in the same way.
Apparently, my right leg is fatter than the left (just like my breasts!) and the zipper only slid half way. Bound and determined, I wrestled with the zipper until I forced my fat calf into the shoe. Constricted, yet victorious, I stood there admiring the beautiful boots — never mind that my legs felt like sausages. A little roll of uncompressed flesh swelled out above the top of the right boot. I looked to Phaedra for reassurance, but she witnessed me struggling with the zipper, folding my skin in on itself, and fighting to get them on. “They’re a little tight, don’t you think?”
She was right. I couldn’t comfortably wear them all day. Depressed, I unzipped them and put them back on the shelf. My poor right calf breathed a sigh of relief to be free of the suede vice-grip. My skin bore wrinkled, red marks where I forced the zipper to go up. Even thought the attempt ended in disappointment, It renewed my hope in the fact that somewhere there are a pair of boots that will zip up the first time without extended effort. I can’t give up, they have to be out there somewhere.
