New Boots

Allan, one of the dads, and I wear the same size- shirts, sweatshirts, jackets and shoes. It's great.

He gave me a new pair of boots.

New to me... they are worn in, perfectly broken cowboy boots. I love them. I haven't worn anything else for days.

When I was around 8 years old, one Christmas morning I crept out before anyone was awake to find my new red cowboy boots, cowboy hat and holster with guns.

A boy present and I got it, having begged for it and nothing else for months. I never wanted dolls, or dresses or pretty things. I only wanted a cowboy outfit. I pulled on the new boots and went back to bed.

Nothing else mattered. I had my boots.

And my guns.

In searching for a costume for Halloween this past weekend, I found Allan and Walter's old two stepping box, filled with assorted cowboy gear. I pulled on a black Stetson.

And the real, honest to god, Texas made cowboy boots.

I love my new boots.

They are my ass kicking boots. I feel ten feet tall in them and ready to strut down any street for a gun fight, card game or whiskey drinkin'. Okay, I hate whiskey but something like that.

I think I'm gonna need 'em tomorrow for the showdown at the OK Corral.

Or maybe just a good place in line at the deli counter...