I thought that my readers might enjoy a short story today.

Boots

Emma loved her boots. It had taken her a whole year of babysitting the brats down the street to save enough to buy them. Before she went to sleep each night, she would count and tally the total of the bundle of bills that had accumulated in an old shoe box under her bed. Then she would subtract that total from the cost of the coveted boots.

Chastity, her best friend, went with her every time she stopped at the store to try them on. Emma would slip her feet into the boots, feeling the stiff leather as it touched her calves. The fur on top sometimes tickled her legs, but she didn’t mind.

The sales clerk had gotten used to seeing Emma and Chastity at the store. Emma even knew her name, Marcia Anderson. Emma would seek Marcia out and look hopefully at the woman.  Marcia would peer over the glasses that were perched on the end of her nose.

“Sure,” she’d sigh, “go ahead and try them on—again.” Then she’d shake her head and lean toward the other clerk and whisper something.  They both could barely contain their amused smiles. Neither woman would admit it, but they enjoyed watching Emma prance around the store in the camel colored boots.

Now the boots were hers. She carried the clumsy square box into her bedroom and set in on her unmade bed.

Emma reverently removed the boots from the box, and caressed them as if they were kittens. The special silk blend socks she purchased to wear with them made it easier to get them on.

She turned each foot this way and that, marveling at how the boots looked. Then she walked in front of her full length mirror, watching her feet. She squealed with delight.

“I can’t wait until everyone sees them,” she exclaimed.

Then Emma grabbed her beach bag and towel from the closet floor and rushed downstairs.

Her mother’s expression said it all. She raised the spatula she was wielding like an extension of her arm.

“For Pete’s sake, Emma. Why are you wearing those boots today? Aren’t you going to the beach? I told you they were impractical for Florida!”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. “You just don’t get it, Mom.”

The door slammed.

And  Emma clomped out into the bright sunshine and 80 degree weather.