Orginal thought:
I realize I sound like my parents, but man, how about the weather this weekend?! huh? huh? It was absolutely beautiful in DC - crisp blue air. You almost needed a sweatshirt.
The plus is -- holy shit, no more swamp ass! The minus is - summer is winding down. Which means, time to repair the fall shoes. Sunday, as I was completing my list of to dos, I pulled my pile of 'to be fixed' shoes together to take to the shoe repair guy, or as my Mom calls him/her, the cobbler.
Insert additional thought:
Saturday, I did nothing. I recovered from my final birthday week bash and basically relished in the fact that I have the coolest friends ever... no really, the absolute coolest, evvvverrr. I don't remember a lick of the cab ride home, but I remember waking up wondering how long I could hold it. Because the longer I held it, the longer I could sleep. And as soon as I walk to the bathroom, the dog will be up and ready to go. Not to mention the shear pain of my headache while lying horizontal was hard enough to stifle.
Then there was the whole thought of Kevin waking up to my screaming, pondering, "why the hell did I let this person into my house last night?" So what did I do. I put my big girl pants on and went to the damn bathroom. Because for fuck sake, I am twenty-six years old. What were my other options? And you know what, it all worked out. P.S. My dog is my hero. He slept until 12:30 on Saturday. YES!
Back to original thought:
Today like a good doobey, I went to the cobbler, who happens to be a dude. I show him my favorite boots. I purchased them three seasons ago in NYC. Yes, HP loves, LOVES shoes. Anyway, the damn cobbler says he can't fix my boots because the heel has a huge chunk of wood missing... and says, "I don't think they are safe." I immediately began to plead, "can you please just re-do the heel, forget about the missing chunk. I'll wear them until they break. No one will even see the heel under pants."
He repeats, this time squinting his eyes,"I don't think they are safe. But you can call the manufacturer and learn if they can send you a new heel. If you bring me the heel, I'll fix it for $60.00" In my mind I think, "Well, I'll put a $60.00 boot in your... Send me on a wild goose chase only to charge me 60 bones that could go towards brand new boots. Pbbsfftst!That is just bunk!" Instead, I say, "Thanks. I'll try it and see if it works." Grumbling as I walk away I think to myself, "How the hell did I take a chunk out of my boots and not realize it? Who does that?!" And then it hit me, "Damn, hotpokkets!"
By the time I made it back to the office, I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire scenario. I mean, seriously!? It is time for some new boots. What they hell was I thinking taking them there to begin with.
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3 comments:
there's a reason your dog slept till 12:30 -- someone else let him out and fed him at 7.
is it ironic that during my post b-day HP i actually ate a box of hotpockets?
Actually, I think we should all eat hot pockets more often... they are gooood!
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