Das Boot

You know when you’re on the brink of a nervous collapse and everyone is like “just blog about it! Get it off your chest! You’ll feel better!” and you’re all “if I blog about it, then the brink of a nervous collapse will seem like a vacation destination, because if I actually get this shit out I’ll be in full blown nervous breakdown and I won’t even look like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted which takes the whole silver lining out of a nervous breakdown.” And also, when I say everyone, I mean the voices in my head, so let’s go ahead and put that in the minus column.

It all started one Monday, three weeks ago when I was putting on my boots and my Left Boot zipper broke. I hope that you don’t think that I’m being overly dramatic when I say that I consider the boot zipper breaking the modern day equivalent of the God reaching down to smite me. Because, seriously, outside of Sarah Palin’s Alaska on the Discovery Channel, what could be more annoying?

But I’m not one to take adversity laying down, mostly because it’s hard to pour wine in that position, so I presented myself and my boot to the local cobbler. The good news was that the cobbler could save the boot! A simple zipperectomy would be performed, followed shortly by a separation from me of $30.

The boot would be ok! This was wonderful news!

I was reunited with my boot a few short days later, and we went to town. We walked the streets, we took in the sights. Except, OH NO! The Right Boot zipper started to fray. And also snag. Fray and snag and come apart.

I didn’t understand how this could be happening so soon after the Left Boot Zipper Incident. What the hell happened to Lightning Never Striking Twice? I would really appreciate it if the laws of physics and Benjamin Franklin didn’t let me down.

And then the unthinkable happened. The heel of Right Boot fell the fuck off. I had to limp home like an animal. An animal who was wearing a boot whose heel feel off. I’m lucky that I didn’t get Endangered Specied and shit.

So I take Right Boot to the cobbler with the whole Heel Trauma and a Level Orange Zipper Alert.

And the cobbler says that when they replace the heel, they need to see the second boot, to match it or some such nonsense. I mean, I totally see this scam from a mile away (thanks to my infra-red night vision goggles) but I don’t want to enrage someone who holds my Boot Happiness in his hands, so I agree. And I bring the Left Boot in. Left Boot is obviously upset and nervous because he is still recovering from the zipperectomy. But I reassure him that it’ll be okay, that we all care about him and want only what’s best for him, and he’s all “What about Right Boot?” and I’m all “WHO? Who’s Right Boot? You’re crazy! You know I’m a monoped!”

So a few days pass. Sadly and bootlessly, and then I go to the cobbler with $60 to get my boots.

And I get them.

Gorgeous new heels.

Shiny boots.

EXCEPT, DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN, WHY IS the Right Boot Zipper still frayed and on Orange Alert?

The Dear Lord In Heaven wasn’t answering, so I had to ask the cobbler.

“Oh no,” he explained. “We replaced the zipper in the Left Boot!”

“Left Boot?” I asked. “But you fixed Left Boot a few weeks ago.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

After what seemed like a few lifetimes of this fabulous exchange, I waved the white flag. (Although to be honest, I would have waved any kind of flag that I’d been handed.)

“Okay, I will pay you what you ask and I will leave,” I told him. Because I’m bad-ass.

“I can see you’re not happy,” the clairvoyant cobbler told me.

I conceded that this wasn’t the high point of my life.

So he took Right Boot for Zipper Replacement Therapy.

I’m scared to pick Right Boot up. I don’t know how Octopuses do it.

Thank you in advance for your prayers.

One year ago ...

• In Response to My Boot Woes, an Email From Papa - 2010