It was one of those early mornings packed full of appointments, so I came prepared with extra clothes and a plan.
Six o’clock came way too early, and I was tired before the day even had a chance to begin. My first appointment was at 8 a.m. and thankfully online, but the next one was in person at the hospital. And this was the kind of appointment where you wear your most comfortable, move-freely, slightly questionable “hobo-chic” clothes.
After that, I needed to head straight to work, so I brought my work clothes with me and changed after my appointment. The final touch was going to be my NEW beautiful gray-blue boots. They were fancy lace-up boots with these peekaboo purple-brown inserts, and honestly, they were giving me all the country-girl confidence. Since I was feeling country that day anyway, changing into them in my truck just added to the whole mood.
I was so proud of myself for getting those complicated boots laced up and looking right. I climbed out of the truck, took a few steps, and immediately thought, Wow. I do not remember these being this uncomfortable when I bought them.
But, naturally, I reasoned away the pain.
I told myself it was just going to be one of those long, painful “breaking in the boots of the year” kind of days. So I waddled up to the front door, made my way to the check-in counter, and began the check-in process.
The ladies at the desk greeted me with their usual warmth, and since I was feeling a little self-conscious—because I had only seen the dress and boots together on a hanger, not actually on my body—I casually asked how they thought my dress and boots got along.
One of the ladies said she loved the outfit. Another said she had just been admiring the boots. For a few seconds, I was feeling pretty good.
And then my come-to-pre-kindergarten moment arrived.
One of them gently asked, “Are your boots on the wrong feet?”
A wave of understanding hit me like a brick.
That was why my feet hurt so much.
Not only were the boots pointed outward, giving my waddle an extra swing, but I suddenly looked like a grown woman who had forgotten how shoes work.
The ladies were extremely gracious, and thankfully, I was able to laugh through my humiliation. One of them even got up and offered me her chair while I spent the next five minutes unlacing and relacing the Boots of the Year onto the correct feet.
And yes, I know some people may think I have it all figured out because I wear dresses, like to match, and occasionally appear put together. But the truth is, most days I am just trying to leave my pre-kindergarten shame at the door, pull on my big-girl panties, and smile bravely anyway.
