these boots are made for walking

I got new cowboy boots over the weekend, dark brown suede, slightly pointed toe, two inch stacked heel. Been a long time since I've had some shit-kickers. Yes, that is what we Southerners like to call our boots, the ones we wear to get dirty in the yard or stomp around town. Got them half-price and had a gift card to pay for them, plus I got a new scarf and brown tights on that card as well. Doesn't really sound like it goes together-- shit-kickers, tights, and a scarf. But somehow they all work in the same wardrobe, just not on the same day.

There's something about having a pair of stomping boots that makes you want to kick ass. I came into work today with a kicking-ass attitude. I don't even feel like stopping to take names.

My office door was unlocked and wide open-- someone had fished the extra key out of the reception desk (no one is supposed to know it's in there but the boss and receptionist). Turns out the boss was the culprit, but I was on a rampage for about thirty minutes trying to find out who did it, and he'll get an earful when I get ahold of him too. The controller and I share an office-- lots of financial and HR related stuff going on in here.

I eat when I'm stressed, and it's been stressful around here lately. I weighed myself over Christmas at my in-laws, and I'm the same 140 I've always been. I just feel... flabby. I'm eating McDonalds right now as I write this. Probably doesn't help. But I have been told three times today that I "look tall" or "look thin." It's amazing what a new pair of boots will do for you, and a new attitude.

Husband joined a gym, says he wants to firm up, lose about 10 pounds, and get back to his "fighting weight." Like he ever fought anything, other than maybe a barstool after a few too many. But he went both Thursday and Friday after work, cycled and used an elliptical that told him, in all its digital wisdom, that he worked off 265 calories both days. If nothing else it's given him a new appreciation for the amount of calories in food and how much it takes to work off that one extra coke or that one little candy bar. He even asked me over the weekend how many calories were in diet Dr. Pepper. "Zero," I gladly told him, and he was happy as he cracked it open. Like I buy diet soda because I like it.

Don't tell him I told you so, but he has gained about 15-20 pounds over the last couple years. Still fit, but soft, and maybe a little on the pudgy side-- he's especially started to fill in on his usually angular neck and checks. I think that was the last straw for him.

I saw a picture of him at his Dad's house the other night, probably from age 18 or 19, and I was reminded of the face that I fell in love with how ever many years ago, those sharp cheek bones and fluffly curly brown hair, all buzz cut now to hide the fact that it's falling out. I love his face now too-- his little gray hairs, the blue eyes that will never lose their youthful mischievous glint, but something about seeing the old him reminded me of those days so strongly, I feel renewed.

Me? I don't think I've changed, but I think that's probably more of a condition of seeing myself in the mirror every day more than the actual truth of it. I won't ask him, though, I don't want to know. I might have to kick his ass if he told me the truth. I'd take off my boots first for him though. That's just how much I love him.