My boots are ripped. If I’m being honest they aren’t even my boots. They are my roommates. Because of their delapitated nature and appearance I have taken up the assumption that she, a.) doesn’t care for them
b.) doesn’t need them
c.) I’m saving her a trip to goodwill, or the trash bin in our front yard.
So basically these fake Uggs that are completely ripped apart are useless, and somehow they are the only shoes I grabbed as a ran out the door to make my flight.
How is it that every time I travel I wind up with the most useless items possible taking up valuable space in my bags? This has been a pattern in my life and I have never been able to pin point what leads to this occurrence. I could throw out a list of random ideas and maybe come up with a good solution as to why this happens. But I just don’t care to at the moment. And maybe that reason right there is why it happens. I just don’t care enough to figure it out to make a change. Which could also be the reason why when I saw these fake ugg boots torn to bits I said to myself… “You know what… I’m gonna wear those” Because I just don’t care enough that they are ugly, they work. For the most part they stay on my feet, which I guess in my standards deems them worthy of my perfect feet. My feet are perfect, I don’t care who you are, my feet are perfect and I’m not taking that statement back ever. I looked at these fake uggs and thought.. who buys uggs? either people who care too much and don’t know how to make their own fashion choices so they bought them because other girls were wearing Uggs and northface jackets. On the other side of the spectrum of Ugg buyers are the people who don’t care enough. The people who don’t care about anything but comfort. And they were right because they are like walking on clouds. These boots make me think of laying on a sheep skin rug in front of a crackling fire in a log cabin after a long session of love making. (whoa what? love making? where did that come from?) So you get the point. these boots are damn comfortable. But I am not in either one of these groups that would traditionally be drawn to purchase Ugg boots. Which is why the boots I am wearing right now are perfect for me. They are dirty, old, not even real Uggs, and they are ripped across the back which makes the wool burst out around my ankle like a sheep is being smothered inside a torn piece of suede and is trying to escape. Of course these are the boots for me. They have all the benefits of comfort with no pay off of the looks and social appeal.
However as I sit here staring at all the airport passers by, I wonder if I’m the kind of person that would be a target for, Stacy and Clinton, from What Not to Wear. I could see them ditching a book and a news paper from a gate across from mine and bombarding me.
“Michaela! Your friends seem to think you need a little bit of help.”
“Oh my God.. what is on your feet, what on earth did those poor fake uggs ever do to you?”
My brain works in Rabbit trails, there is no other way for me to think than just falling down an endless labyrinth of rabbit trails and I have to admit they always come full circle. So as I dare to bring you down with me, I want you to know… I have no point, but there will be a point, and it will make sense, but it’s not because I wanted to.
So as Stacy and Clinton are picking apart my travel fashion choices in my mind I start thinking.. How are people so clueless about themselves. How do people dress themselves so poorly? how do people sing terribly on American Idol and have NO idea? What is going on in their heads that what they believe they are conveying to the world and what the world see’s are nothing alike? I am all too curious. Are there things about myself that I think are perfectly acceptable but nobody else thinks so. You always assume that you have the kind of friends that are going to let you know when you have something in your teeth, or your tag is sticking out, or who will cover for you when you farted in a semi crowded room. But there are some things that are just tricky to bring up.
I had a friend all through high school who literally smelt like (grab your barf bag) a rotten pair of underwear. How do you bring that up? Or take myself for instance, how many people saw me that unfortunate morning when I had a bra stuck to my back like an idiot? how many people couldn’t bring themselves to tell me before that saint of a man let me know.
What causes people to be self aware? Besides Budda obviously.. kidding.
Hmm I’m bored of this