For a long time, I've wanted a pair of red cowboy boots. Ever since I grew out of the ones I had when I was three, to be exact. Oh, if those boots weren't fabulous. Dark red leather with crisp white stitching and chunky wooden heels that made even my toddler legs look fabulous.
Adult Caroline has been envying Toddler Caroline of those boots for many years since.
So, my mom and I began an extensive search of all surrounding areas for a women's size 7 1/2 red cowboy boot to fit the grown-up me.
One day, she calls and says she's found the perfect pair. I say, "Get 'em!'" with all the enthusiasm of the aforementioned three year old.
We meet. She unveils the boots. They're... horrible. Red, with a variety of orange stitches that seem to be leaping up the boot in flame. My legs and feet immediately begin to burn on contact.
Mom: "Well! There were only three pairs to choose from, and I liked these the best..."
Me: "If this is the best option, then choose none. Always choose none."
The boots go back. However, there's a no return policy, so she decides she'll try again and exchange.
The next pair is firefighter red.
That's all. Solid red. No stitching, no design, just Georgia red with a big black heel. I would have looked like an overenthusiastic alumni fan. And a little manly, too.
The boots don't even make it up the stairs. Right back in the box and back to Mom they go. I wouldn't want to waste the money on a pair of never-to-be-worn boots, after all.
She calls. She's frustrated. I'm frustrated. I sigh in resignation and begin to face my future that seems bleak without red cowboy boots.
In the end, we decided it would be best for me to return the boots to the western wear store myself and choose a pair to use the credit on, red or not.
This is what I found, and while they aren't red, my heart is content. I will continue my search, but in the meantime, I have these to fill the red-cowboy-boot-shaped hole in my heart:
I die.
That is all.
