Shortly thereafter I was delivered a giant box of karma straight from Steve Madden.
Carmel colored boots.
|These boots hate me.|
Christ, this was going to be the cutest outfit ever.
Then the boots arrived.
I slid my feet into them, feeling the buttery leather and smelling that new shoe smell, packing materials all over the table. I was feeling smug since I read the description, and knew the boots were 14 inches around at the top. Same as my calves. I measured them before I ordered the boots.
So why weren't they fitting?
Sure, I got my foot in just fine, but as I tried to slide the boot up my leg it stopped. It really didn't want to go.
I hollered cuss words strung together so creatively my husband came running. "What's wrong?"
"My fucking boots don't fit! And I don't understand why because they're 14 inches around and my calf is 14 inches and I got them at the sale of the century and can't return or exchange them and it's bullshit!" (Yep, I'm like a trucker).
"If your calf is 14 inches then the boots need to be 15 to get over them."
I shot him a look that probably would have killed a houseplant (say I hadn't killed them all already). "Well where the hell were you with that little nugget of math when I was ordering them?"
"Didn't you order those at work?"
Oh. I did. So now the new plan is to try and make my calves smaller. Please send ideas and exercises. If that fails I guess I can always turn the boots into a planter and try my hand at houseplants again.