ACME Dingo Boots and a Man

Several years ago I finally won an auction on e-bay for a pair of vintage 1972 ACME Dingo boots. I almost never win anything on E-Bay and if I do I wonder if I am getting the shaft.  Anyway, these boots were stinkin' cute.  They were also a size 7 1/2.  That wouldn't be a problem except I wear an 8.  I just figured I'd wear them without socks.  Or really really thin ones.  The best part was that they only cost me 12 dollars and to my surprise when they arrived they were real boots and not a picture of boots.  I absolutely loved them.  However, my feet did not.  The first opportunity I got to wear them out was a "date" with my husband.  Anything that gets me out of Sarepta and doesn't involve going to Bass Pro or The Home Depot is a "date" to me.  While we were eating at the restaurant I shall not name because I can't remember where it was, we got into an argument over something I shall not discuss - because I can't remember that either.  I'm sure it was Jeremy's fault whatever it was.  Finally after 45 minutes of staring at my steak and potatoes and not speaking we decide to leave.  I was mad, but I was looking cute in my 1972 Dingo boots.  The restaurant must have decided to wax their floors that morning with Crisco. Just as I marched past the bar, thinking mean thoughts about Jeremy - my beautiful, half a size to small boots defied me and I slipped.  The graceful creature that I am- was able to stay off my face and luckily I fell on my booter.  One leg went behind me and the other went way out to the side.  It didn't hurt. Much. Except for my pride.  Jeremy scurried up behind me just as the bar patrons turned from their stools.  I heard an "OOOOOOOO" and then they all gave me a round of applause and someone even whistled. It was a glorious moment.  Jeremy picked me up and rushed me out the doors as fast as he could.  My head never looked up until I was sure I was in the parking lot.  Here I was - mad at my husband for whatever he did to me, humiliated in front of half of Bossier City, feet hurting, and probably a pulled hamstring from my stunt.  As I hobbled back to our car my sweet, loving husband turns to me and asks "So, uh, where do you wanna go next?"  I wish I could say I smiled sweetly and kissed his sweet lips, but I won't lie to you.  Luckily the brain damage has blocked out what I said to him. 
 Unfortunately, I cannot say that was the most embarrassed I have ever been.  I have managed to embarrass myself many times over, but maybe we'll  talk about those another day.
So....... Jeremy tells me the other day that I probably won't be able to blog about Heath forever and I should probably should find something else to write about. I agreed. Sometimes he has good ideas. He's a really good husband/father/man. He still can't find the milk in the refrigerator. Or his underwear or socks. And he reads my texts over my shoulder - which drives me crazy and usually gets him an elbow in the gut. Other than that he's a pretty good guy. That got me to thinking- what in the world am I going to blog about? I guess everything and nothing. I will probably just have rambling thoughts and maybe even a idea every now and then. My hope is to make you laugh and smile. Just laugh - laugh loud - laugh at yourself - laugh at your kids. Life is just hard sometimes, we can fall down and sometimes in front of a lot of people.  I hope you have someone to pick you up or at least help you up.  Laughing makes things so much easier.  If you ain't laughing you ain't living.



'Til Tomorrow