A couple of weeks ago the plastic of my cheap rain boots split. This is the second time I’ve had a pair rendered useless since we’ve moved to Syracuse. Suddenly the $40 or so spent for a pair of boots doesn’t seem like such a bargin when you go through two pairs in 3 years. It rains a ton here, especially in the Spring and Fall and it doesn’t look like our family is moving anytime soon. Investing in a pair of boots that would actually last started to seem like a pretty swell idea. I turned to facebook, as one does, and asked my friends if their Hunter boots were worth the exorbitant price tag. Several of my kind friends answered that they love the boots-they do last for years. Other friends encouraged me to look at a few different brands, and I did google the other options, but I decided to go with the Hunters. I’ve wanted a pair for years, since they started being seen all over the place when we still lived in Brooklyn. Sometimes you just really want the thing that the cool kids wear. But up until now I didn’t have a reason to buy a heavy duty rain boot that would last for years.
Since Z is going to NYC this weekend we agreed that I could go to the movies myself last weekend. I know a lot of people don’t care to do stuff like movies or restaurants alone, but (and I think it’s partly because I lived in NYC for close to a decade where solo activity is considered normal) I adore it. In fact, I’d rather go to the movies alone than with someone else. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing The Perks of Being a Wallflower and on Saturday I did a quick search of local theaters to nail down a time. Yeah, it’s only out in limited release. The closest theater playing it is in Nyack, NY or Toronto. I had a pretty elaborate pity party for myself and decided to run to the mall to try on the Hunter boots so I could search out the best deal online and buy them.
Lord and Taylor was slamming on Saturday afternoon. But a pleasant young man quickly got me a pair of boots. Turns out he accidentally grabbed a UK size 7, so they were a US 8/9. I managed to snag him after a few minutes so he could get my size. To pass the time I tried the first pair he brought and I was swimming in them. He returned with my size and I sat down to tug them on. It was a struggle. I was wearing skinny jeans, so for the second leg I decided to pull up the pants, which required a lot of maneuvering. I could tell I was making a spectacle of myself. Even without my jeans underneath the boots cut into my upper calf. I actually had muffin top of the leg, though the foot part was plenty roomy.
This wasn’t my first experience with leg muffin top. Back when we lived in Providence I bought a pair of leather boots that totally were too small in the calf. But I wasn’t wearing skinny jeans then, so my pants hid it. When I wore them I’d have an angry welt around my leg at the end of the day, but I loved them. I didn’t care. I was also about 20lbs heavier than I am today. Thank you again, Zoloft, for making gain 50lbs (No seriously, thank you. Z thinks you saved my life. It was worth it to get well even if I had to get pretty, um, zaftig…). I had them on this weekend outside my jeans and there was still a little bit of room. It’s one of the most concrete reminders of the weight I’ve lost. Being I can wear those boots now I didn’t anticipate a problem with the Hunters.
Getting the damn Hunters off required me to contort and flail around the shoe department like a drunk person. I felt heat creeping up my neck and onto my cheeks. By the time I wrestled them down I knew my whole face was bright red and I was blinking back tears. I caught a sulky boyfriend watching my struggles with a look of bordom tinged with disgust on his face. As I continued to scan the sales floor it seemed that all the women trying on shoes were impossibly slender and beautiful and impeccably groomed. Um, I hadn’t combed my hair and was wearing a 20 year old rugby shirt that used to be my father’s. I tidied the boxes and slunk out of there as fast as I could. In retrospect the whole thing was pretty funny. I mean, take a moment, imagine schlubby me hysterically rolling around wrenching the boots off. Please, go ahead and laugh. Hell, putting a smile on someone’s face kind of makes the whole thing worth it.
People. I’m not in great shape mentally. I can feel myself withdrawing, Z can feel it too. It scares both of us. One of the first things that happens when I feel unwell is I feel fat, repulsive disgusting. When Hunter tells me those things are true it makes it even easier to believe. While perusing their website this afternoon I noticed the thoughtful folks at Hunter have considered us Fat Calves. They offer The Huntress a “wide calf rain boot”. I’m going to swallow my pride and order them and require Z to only refer to me as The Huntress in a British accent when I have them on. Might as well have a little fun with it….