Recently I spent far too long pining over a pair of black, over the knee boots. Screen shots of said boots from multiple angles filled my camera roll and I had excitedly told everyone all about them. Versatile. Classic. Stylish. These boots were going to CHANGE MY LIFE and I couldn’t bloody wait. I had even made space in my wardrobe, I was committed.
Little did I know that trying these boots on would be up there in terms of embarrassment with the time my netball skirt came undone and flew off whilst umpiring in front of a lot of people. That the experience would be marred by embarrassment and trauma, not the level of joy and new boot smugness that I had expected, not even close.
I will admit that before trying said boots on, I was a tad nervous because I have rather large calves. Many a time I have convinced myself that they are in fact disproportionate to my body. As well as being large, my calves are also strong. My now husband, but previous annoying boy at school once unintentionally made me cry by commenting on how large my calves were, apparently they bring all the boys to the yard.
Well they may bring all the boys to the yard but they most definitely do not suit long, black, over the knee boots because they got stuck on my legs. Very stuck. Did I mention that they were pull on boots? Not a helpful zipper in sight. I’m having heart palpitations just writing this.