Boots!

I purchased a pair of boots this week. I love them. They make my calves look good. They do not, however, fit a pair of calves AND a pair of normal jeans. They only fit either of the previous separately (but who wants to have jeans in boots without wearing either?), or they fit calves and EIGHTIES JEANS. Eighties Jeans that cost $200 but fit in boots without stuffing, folding, or cursing.


I have always wondered why the girlies at work who wear fashionable boots always have pancake-butt and muffin-tops. Now I know. It's because of these:

7 for All Mankind Gwenevere jeans

Not even good on a model. Sad, sad. If an item of clothing does not look good on a woman with legs like a gazelle, it will definitely not look good on a woman with legs like ham hocks (i.e. myself). **They are not loose about my ankles** Instead of looking sleekly fashionable as the outfit would on knock-knees above, it looks as if I were preparing to ride my show horse over a 3-bar jump. All I need is a helmet, I think. Jesse told me I look like an upside-down triangle in these jeans. *sigh* Just what I always wanted.

**It seems like I've started a trend that involves starting a blog about a particular subject, then completely forgetting what I was originally writing about and doing something else that is less entertaining than my original thought. This blog was not originally going to be about pancake-butt.

I was going to segue into how my boot-wearing makes me not only a victim of a fashion movement, but make others victims to my boot-wearing danger-to-society self. I almost ran over a small person this morning because boots, while stylish, do not really allow one to "flex" one's ankles, such as one does when say... pushing on the brake pedal. Instead of gently pressing with a slight extension of my foot downward, moving my gas pedal gently downward and the clutch gently upward, I have to move my WHOLE LEG up and down so I look I'm doing a seated marching band impression. Not only does it make me look ridiculous to passersby and God alike, it also does not do much for my driving prowess at 8am on the Los Angeles freeways and surface streets. There was much revving and jerking this morning. It harkened back to my first days of learning to drive a stick-shift a TRUCK all alone because my boyfriend was too hung-over to make it down the stairs, much less take me to work. I had never wanted to relive those moments. OH BOOTS.