The boot drama...
This morning I went to put on my brown boots. Left foot in. Zip. Right foot in. Zip..ehh..zip...AHHH! Stuck. The zipper was stuck. It wouldn't budge, up or down. Not only was the zipper stuck, I was stuck. In my boots. I sat on the floor and tugged and tugged. Nothing. Finally, I was able to wiggle my foot out of the boot. I put on my black boots and hurried to class (did I mention I was running late?).
Let's just say it wasn't my morning. To top it off, my struggles with the zipper left my hands all cut up (it got pretty intense). Touching things was a wee bit painful today. Especially door knobs. I always get shocked, and getting shocked on fingertip zipper cuts? OUCH.
Then came my ray of sunshine for the day. James brought me a candy bar at work! Chocolate solves most first world problems. Mitchell, jealous that I told James he was my favorite for bringing me chocolate, bought me the most delicious chicken sandwich I have ever consumed. It was so good.
Call me a dog, but I am totally okay if my reward for making it through my boot fiasco this morning comes in the form of food.
When I got home tonight, I tried desperately to save the boots. For over an hour I pulled and *gasp* cut. No luck. That zipper is STUCK. The little girl inside of me just wants to cry in frustration. The big girl in me says to suck it up and eat chocolate. The big girl won.
So, if some really strong man wants to impress me with his brawn and try to rescue my boots...I wouldn't be opposed. Or, maybe you just like solving problems. My boots will gladly volunteer to be the problem you solve tonight.
Damsel in Distress
Disclaimer: I am fully aware that it is ridiculous to be so worked up about a pair of boots. I realize this problem is very minor in the grand scheme of things and that my life will not end just because I may never be able to wear my boots again. Life goes on. I will be okay.