(I'm trying to figure out the math of my countdown clock, which certainly says it's counting down until Feb 3rd, but my poor tired brain just can't figure it out.)
Instead, my poor, tired brain wants to give you this. My poor, tired boots:
I've had these boots since 2006, a year into my career at the bank. I love them.
When they started to look scruffy, I pulled out the black Sharpie. When the heel fell off, I took it to a shoe repair guy down the street. He couldn't fix them, but Mr put them back together with a heavy duty drill.
I knew they were getting on in years, and that as a six year old, forty dollar pair of boots they were just around the corner from retirement. Four days, in fact.
What happened this morning? The classic story: four days from retirement, and pfffft. They died.
Will I be buying a new pair of boots? If you have to ask, you don't know me.
I'll be attending the full police funeral ceremony in old shoes that I dig out of my closet. Again.
This time last year: Project Grocery: Oatmeal Time
