Are these boots “me”?
Don’t answer that. Especially those of you who have known me for more than three years. Although I was formerly a big fan of the lug sole, I traded my 30 pairs of Doc Martens, Creepers and the like in for kitten heels and stilettos a long time ago. So, in my humble opinion, no, these boots are not “me.” And yet I bought them last Saturday. At FULL price, no less. Full price shoes are also not “me.”
Motorcycle boots are a requirement for my Basic Rider CourseTM, which I will be taking this weekend. Supposedly any leatherish boot that covers the ankle and has a thick and non-high-heeled sole would suffice, but after wasting weeks perusing the Targets and Paylesses of the world for such a “boot” without success, I realized I was going to have to get the real deal. It was with that realization that, between televised sessions of a semi-annual conference my church holds, the following conversation with the Roommate took place last Saturday:
Her: Where are you going?
Me: I have to go to the Harley-Davidson dealership. (Hopeful) Do you want to come?
Her: No.
The conference was very edifying—like having a really great self-help/motivational book read to you over two hours while you lay around in your jammies. The HD dealership was not. Mind you, this was one of those newer HD showrooms that’s half shopping mall, half glitzy night-club. Most of the people there were what I like to call “trailer trash chic”—that is, upper-middle class suburbanites who think it’s fun to grow handlebar mustaches and play red-neck bikers between soccer games on the weekend. I shouldn’t judge, I know—their hogs serve the same purpose for them as the Vespa does for me. It’s just that when I was a little kid living in Phoenix, there was a biker bar next to our local McDonalds called The Squeeze Box. Waiting in line at the drive-thru provided the perfect opportunity to conduct a Jane Goodall-type study of real bikers in their natural habitat. There were no former Squeeze Box patrons at the HD dealership on Saturday is all I’m saying, and it was a little sad.
There were, however, these boots.
Don’t answer that. Especially those of you who have known me for more than three years. Although I was formerly a big fan of the lug sole, I traded my 30 pairs of Doc Martens, Creepers and the like in for kitten heels and stilettos a long time ago. So, in my humble opinion, no, these boots are not “me.” And yet I bought them last Saturday. At FULL price, no less. Full price shoes are also not “me.”
Motorcycle boots are a requirement for my Basic Rider CourseTM, which I will be taking this weekend. Supposedly any leatherish boot that covers the ankle and has a thick and non-high-heeled sole would suffice, but after wasting weeks perusing the Targets and Paylesses of the world for such a “boot” without success, I realized I was going to have to get the real deal. It was with that realization that, between televised sessions of a semi-annual conference my church holds, the following conversation with the Roommate took place last Saturday:
Her: Where are you going?
Me: I have to go to the Harley-Davidson dealership. (Hopeful) Do you want to come?
Her: No.
The conference was very edifying—like having a really great self-help/motivational book read to you over two hours while you lay around in your jammies. The HD dealership was not. Mind you, this was one of those newer HD showrooms that’s half shopping mall, half glitzy night-club. Most of the people there were what I like to call “trailer trash chic”—that is, upper-middle class suburbanites who think it’s fun to grow handlebar mustaches and play red-neck bikers between soccer games on the weekend. I shouldn’t judge, I know—their hogs serve the same purpose for them as the Vespa does for me. It’s just that when I was a little kid living in Phoenix, there was a biker bar next to our local McDonalds called The Squeeze Box. Waiting in line at the drive-thru provided the perfect opportunity to conduct a Jane Goodall-type study of real bikers in their natural habitat. There were no former Squeeze Box patrons at the HD dealership on Saturday is all I’m saying, and it was a little sad.
There were, however, these boots.
12 comments:
I think it would be fun to grow a handle-bar mustache. How do I get in on that?
I, for one, like the boots. They kind of make me giggle.
Wow, three new posts in a row - or is it four? It's been great reading!
I'm still having a hard time with the mental connection between Vespas and HD's. For some reason I just don't see you as a Hell's Angel, but these boots are a good first step...
I LOVE the boots. I think that a few carefully placed tiny swarovski crystals on the Harrley Logo would not only look FABULOUS, but create a kind of "reflective caution signal" as you are riding down the road. and... I was also impressed at the recent amount of blog posts that you are doing! It is nice to hear about your thoughts and your life my girl! We all love you around here.
yay for all the new posts!
i'm totally diggin' the boots, super cute, if that word fits haha. but if it counts for anything, i'd totally go to the HD store with you :P
I'd like to add another YAY for all the new posts. As for the boots, they don't seem like something you wouldn't wear. ;) But I'm in the group of "those of you who have known [you] for more than three years." It will be fun to hear about this biker class.
Do the boots come in Red?
impressive
Hope the course goes well this weekend, my little biker girl.
I'd be worried that an eagle or orange and black logo tattoo was next, but with your needle and pain phobias, I think we're pretty safe.
We'd have gone to Burger King if I had known you kids were more interested in the bar next door than your Happy Meals. Ironically, I think there was a motorcycle shop next to the Burger King or maybe it was a custom car place and you'd have grown up to buy a low rider or tuned out a Civic, Supra, or Scion instead of getting a Vespa. Makes the Vespa deal seems cheap and safe.
Keep up the good work.
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