About this time last year, I was on the hunt for a pair of warm boots. At the time, I was working in a job which required me to wear slippers all day, and what I wanted were some boots that would keep my feet warm when all the snow that people kept telling me was going to come came. However, due to the slipper factor and the fact that I invariably left it until almost the last minute to leave to catch the bus, I also wanted boots that I could slip on and off easily.
Well, eventually I found some. They were tall, black, with pretty embroidery around the tops, and lined with fur. Smart but comfortable, they were exactly what I was looking for. They were also horrendously expensive. Still, I reasoned, I'll wear them practically every day when it gets cold... and it is so hard to find nice shoes that fit my feet... So I bought the boots.
Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control I hardly wore the boots that winter. They didn't really go with the jogging bottoms I spent most of the winter in, and also I was in an environment where I did need to keep my shoes on. So they sat in the corner of my hospital room, and looked beautiful and shiny, but rather out of place.
The boots have passed the spring, summer and winter sitting at the bottom of my wardrobe, under my skirts, looking rather forlorn, and taking up a lot of space. Until today, when I decided the time was ripe (and the weather was cold), and got them out, dusted them off and put them on for a visit to Fontanivent.
I should have been put on my guard on the train, when I had to take my coat off, that something was wrong. But no, I ignored the warning signs and carried on. It was not until this afternoon, when my father took me and my boots on a hike to Blonay, that I realised my mistake: it is not yet cold enough to wear the boots.
Fur-lined boots, you see, when worn in unsuitably warm weather and taken on an energetic walk, have the effect of making one uncomfortably hot. I was regretting my decision to wear the boots by the time we reached the communal swimming pool. At Migros, I dived for the chiller cabinet and grabbed a bottle of water, which I proceeded to swig down outside the store. Our shopping done, there was the long, warm walk back...
So here I am, in October, walking around with bare feet (my mother has just discovered my damp socks sitting on the hall table and is not impressed), and mournfully contemplating the fact that I have no other shoes to wear to church tomorrow.
The boots, I am sad to say, will be relegated to the wardrobe once more on my return. Perhaps when it snows...
