They were good boots.
But they are old and busted and must be thrown out. Proposed to my wife in these boots, was charged by a Rwandan gorilla in these boots, approached a friend about my misgivings regarding her overstuffed crapsack of a boyfriend in these boots. I was wearing these boots when Tim nearly knocked me unconcious with a traffic cone. Alitalia lost everything except a green shirt, a pair of khakis, my computer, and these boots. Played soccer in Ghana and took a punt to the groin in them.
One of the important reasons to get married is that it's the only time you can go out drinking with your friends from Ohio, New York and the South all at once. I wore these.
French catacombs, Ugandan HIV clinics, Ghana gay bars, Costa Rican road trips. Taught my nephew to find a rainbow by using his shadow. Started blogging, gave up on blogging, blogged very poorly, resumed regular, if sometimes unreadable, blogging. In boots.
Sadly, the time has come to pull them close and whisper the story about the rabbits. Goodbye, my smelly yellies.
