Sheep Shod

Life's funny, really. A person can weather great tragedy with grace and decorum but be reduced to a helpless puddle of boogery weeping by a piece of burnt toast. Conversely, it is sometimes the little things that can make a girl pretty darned giddy.

As is my wont, I had a little blog blather ready for tonight that centered on the fact that I seem to have become rather dangerously electrified of late and am leaving a flashing trail of sparks in my wake whenever I happen to brush up against anything metal. Yesterday I managed to shock myself so forcefully exiting my truck that I feared I might have actually stopped my heart. There were several rather amusing anecdotes associated with the whole phenomenon that probably would have made for a fun little post.

But sometimes life hands you something better and you just gotta share.

I was able to leave school a bit earlier today thanks to my having hired a disturbingly competent new staff person who is willing to work the later shift. To work a mere 8 hours in a day was something of a treat and I decided to celebrate by visiting my local purveyor of footwear to see if I couldn't add something to my shoe collection. The pickings were not exactly what I was looking for, but I did find a rather cute pair of athletic shoes (for $40.00 on clearance which was not really the bargain I'd hoped for) and a pair of darling metallic sandals with just a wee bit of heel that, after the 50% reduction, were a mere $5.00. Not my best "savvy shopping," but not too bad.

After my purchases were rung up, the hip young thing at the register paused in her bagging duties for a moment and appeared to be sizing me up. Your faithful Sheep was not exactly in her most professional garb today, I fear. What stood before her was a middle aged gal in a pair of boot cut jeans (that may or may not have been a bit too far on the "hip slung" side given my recent romance with the Girl Scout Cookies) and a limited edition, 100th anniversary Harley Davidson denim jacket that I am proud to say was claimed after what can only be described as a "pitched" battle of bidding on Ebay. Like I said...not really my best teacher-outfit.

And, yet, the hip, young thing seemed to approve. She said, somewhat hesitantly, "Do you like Doc Martens?"

I responded in the affirmative, certain that I was now going to be on the receiving end of a story about how her mom really likes them, too. Or worse...her grandmother. Not so. Her next words were spoken softly while she leaned in conspiratorially:

"You wanna see a pair of Doc boots for five bucks?"

My heart did that fluttering thing that women have experienced throughout the ages when confronted with an impossibly good shoe tease. My eyelids twitched slightly and I had to remind myself to breathe. It was all I could do to whisper:

"Y-y-yessssss!"

She proceeded to leave the counter, craftily hiding my shoe purchases from the general public, and began to lead me across the store. Another employee, also a rather hip, young thing, took note of this little parade and became wide-eyed.

"You're showing her the boots!" she cried and followed us part-way to our destination. She did not go all the way, though. She knew that this was a time to keep a respectful distance.

We reached the clearance rack and the boots were set before me. They were brown, lace-up ankle height examples of leather perfection. I tried one on. With a thin sock not designed for a heavy boot, there was ample wiggle room. I knew that a heavy boot sock, perhaps one knit by my own hand, would render them perfect. A little sigh of contentment issued from my lips.

"They fit...my god, they fit." (I personally heard a chorus of angels at that point, but it may have just been the in-store Muzak)

The hip, young thing led me back to the register where my five dollar boots (which retail for at least one hundred dollars) were rung up and added to my bag. She said that she was so happy that someone could have these. She'd tried them on and they were just a bit small for her. She'd been checking shoe sizes all day to find the Cinderella who was destined to take these babies home. It was fate. It is a shoe marriage made in heaven and was brokered by a hip, young thing who has my undying gratitude for her willingness to match the perfect shoe to its intended.

Lord, it doesn't get any better than this. You can just take me now if that's what's fated to be.

Just make sure that they bury me in these boots.

SA