My most favorite pair of Fluevog boots are hurt.
They need medical attention.
The small piece that caps one of the heels came off and is who knows where. So it needs replacing, and I’ll stop with them on the way home today to my cobbler but if he can’t do anything, it means a trip to Fluevog when I’m downtown on Friday and hopefully they can fix it.
(I will not buy new Fluevogs, I will NOT, I won’t even try any on, no matter how much I want too, but if they’re really, really cute maybe I can, just to wear them around the store. For a little while. Yes, yes I can surely do that.)
It’s a testament to the quality of my boots that I can wear them for hundreds of hours and I can keep wearing out the heel but the structure and the leather of the boot remains intact.
I hope they can be fixed. If not, they will need replacing. Of course they will.
Today, I dressed in slacks and a sweater – all black – and had the option of red Mary Janes or black ones. I decided on red, for a splash of color. As I pulled them from their box, I couldn’t help but feel slightly sentimental. These, my first Fluevogs. That I bought the day I quit my job so that I could stay home with Clara. That I bought with the money we’d saved on formula because I was so determined that Clara would have breast milk even when she wouldn’t (and couldn’t) nurse.
My red Fluevogs. They represent the passion and commitment that I have for my daughter; for what I doggedly felt was best for her. They represent my determination, my stubbornness, my unwillingness to give up.
Not just shoes. Not these ones.
Never these ones.