Shiny shiny shiny ....
Aug. 3rd, 2003 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tyggerjaiThere are far too many levels of irony involved in the fact that I'll quite happily sit and polish my boots to a mirror shine for half an hour now that no-one's *making* me.
So I won't go there. I'll simply note in passing the far more obvious irony of me soaking a pair of socks this morning that had spent a week on the line not drying, been brought in when it became clear they probably weren't going to dry outside, and then hung outside again when the sun noticed I'd taken my washing in and started shining again.
The more astute of you (and probably less astute) will have realised that I have new boots. Combat boots. Just like mother used to wear. I haven't worn combat boots in a while - I have, for some bizarre, inexplicable reason been wearing *sneakers* for, oh, maybe a year, and motorcycle boots for a few years before that. But I used to live in GPs and Docs. Literally. And now I remember why - lacing them added ten minutes to my morning routine. Once they go on, I'm not taking the fuckers off. And once they're off, I'm not putting the fuckers back on. This is why I used to sleep in them. I remember now.
And thank fuck they last 5 years. Because you don't want to break a new pair in more often than that.
Speaking of which, is the thick wet socks for the first couple of days a Canberra thing? I remember Sam (or maybe Kristy. Or possibly Mel) wore hers in the bath and then tromped around in them all day to wear them in, but I think the rest of us stuck to thick wet socks. And stuffed the boots with wet newspaper in a low oven for ten minutes, too, if I recall correctly.
Ahh, boots. It's good to be back in them. And wearing body shop perfume oil again - though not the apple blossom. I'm jealously hoarding my last few drops of apple blossom - I suspect it's the last bottle in the world. And playing Hackey Sack. Ye gods. I think it must be very nearly spring....
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sol.
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So I won't go there. I'll simply note in passing the far more obvious irony of me soaking a pair of socks this morning that had spent a week on the line not drying, been brought in when it became clear they probably weren't going to dry outside, and then hung outside again when the sun noticed I'd taken my washing in and started shining again.
The more astute of you (and probably less astute) will have realised that I have new boots. Combat boots. Just like mother used to wear. I haven't worn combat boots in a while - I have, for some bizarre, inexplicable reason been wearing *sneakers* for, oh, maybe a year, and motorcycle boots for a few years before that. But I used to live in GPs and Docs. Literally. And now I remember why - lacing them added ten minutes to my morning routine. Once they go on, I'm not taking the fuckers off. And once they're off, I'm not putting the fuckers back on. This is why I used to sleep in them. I remember now.
And thank fuck they last 5 years. Because you don't want to break a new pair in more often than that.
Speaking of which, is the thick wet socks for the first couple of days a Canberra thing? I remember Sam (or maybe Kristy. Or possibly Mel) wore hers in the bath and then tromped around in them all day to wear them in, but I think the rest of us stuck to thick wet socks. And stuffed the boots with wet newspaper in a low oven for ten minutes, too, if I recall correctly.
Ahh, boots. It's good to be back in them. And wearing body shop perfume oil again - though not the apple blossom. I'm jealously hoarding my last few drops of apple blossom - I suspect it's the last bottle in the world. And playing Hackey Sack. Ye gods. I think it must be very nearly spring....
</ lj-cut>
sol.
.