Maybe there's a little kick-ass cowgirl in each of us

When I was little, I was the type of kid who liked to dress up. Halloween, costume parties, whatevah. So much so I went through a period of time in Nursery school when I would only wear party dresses. Each day, every day. Of course this also required the wearing of the tights, since New York in winter isn't going to break any heat index records. My mother didn't argue with my penchant for wearing the pretties, figuring that like my jello eating penchant it too would pass, but she was hell bent on not buying me 500 pair of tights. You see in addition to wanting to wear party dresses, I also didn't want to give up the climbing on the jungle gym, the jumping rope and the crawling around on my hands and knees pretending to be a cat. All of this action packed adventurism created a plethora of rips and runs in my tights. My mother did what made sense to her, she sewed up the holes.  Only problem is my mother didn't always use matching thread.  This created a somewhat Frankensteinesque feel to my ensemble at times.  But I didn't care, I got to wear a party dress and all was right in my world.

During this period of time, we visited my grandparents in Colorado. On a trip to Sears I spotted a yellow cowgirl outfit and begged my mother to buy it for me. It was yellow, it had white fringe. It included a vest, white blouse with yellow swirly stitching on the collar, pearl snaps down the shirt front and a yellow skirt with fringe along the bottom.  It also came with it's own silver pistol and holster. Yup, I was gonna be a bona fide pistol packin' cowgirl once I put that outfit on.  Once purchased,  I don't think I took that outfit off for months. I remember wearing it a lot. I loved it. It made me feel like a powerful cowgirl. I'm not sure what it was about being a cowgirl I equated with being in control and confident, but I do remember having both of those emotions running through whenever I put on my yellow cowgirl outfit. What I don't' remember is if I had boots to go with the outfit. I can't remember wearing boots with it.  I think I must have, but while I have a sharp recollection of the clothing, I have no memory of any footwear. 

 It's funny how memories work, they can hit you when you least expect it and I'm convinced I experienced a flashback which spurred (pun definitely intended) me on to buy a pair of boots while on a business trip to Austin. Not just any boots, Cowgirl boots. I suddenly had a overriding desire to purchase a pair of boots right then, right now.  Fortunately I have a friend from college who lives in Austin and she is used to me zooming into town and going on a hunt. Last time I was hunting for a briefcase-type bag.  I call Hollee and she tells me she is confident we can find boots for me in Austin. I tell her I want boots that reflect my personality; quirky but can also be worn seriously. 

Our first stop was at a local chain store, Cavender's. I find a pair of boots I really like, but unfortunately they are not in my size. Our salesperson calls the other store in town, and yes, they do have them in my size and will hold them for me.  Hollee and I get back to her car and decide we will try another store as it is on our way anyway.  We figure if that store doesn't have anything I like better than what I have already seen, we'll continue on our way to the other Cavender's. 

We arrive at Allens Boots which is an Austin institution when it comes to buying boots.  Upon walking in, I can see why. Lots of boots everywhere and it reminds me a little of a tack room, thankfully it does not smell like a tack room. No horses, but plenty of tourists. The salesperson is very nice, she gives me a brief overview of how a boot should fit when you try it on, "You want the heel to slip a little in the back, it's not like a regular shoe."  Next we move on to looking at the various styles of boots along the wall. They've got a wide variety including some boots with skulls, flowers and howling coyotes. I decide I want to go the more traditional route.  The salesperson points to a pair of boots sporting a large cross, "How about something like this?" No crosses I tell her. She looks puzzled. I explain, "They wouldn't go over bit at my synagogue." She continues to look puzzled. "I'm Jewish." Salesperson is still drawing a blank on this conversation. Alrightythen, let us move on down the shelf.  Shall we? And we do. I try on a pair. Still not what I want exactly and they are more than double the price of the boots being held for me. Hollee and I agree the boots here are amazing, but not the ones for me. Our work here is done. Time to make like a horse and hit the trail.

We arrive at the second Cavender's. We are met by a salesperson named Ray. Ray is dressed like a cowboy; white shirt with piping, pearl snaps, Wranglers, belt with tastefully large buckle, and of course boots. He instructs me to put  on the boots and I do.  "They feel awesome! I'll take them!" Ray will have none of my nonsense. "No. Those don't fit you." Huh? Yes they do. So I tell him, "They fit great, no tightness, my toes can move, nothing is rubbing where it shouldn't be rubbing. What do you mean they don't fit? That's crazy talk Ray!"  I challenge Ray by trying to stare him down. I want these boots. I love them. Ray will have none of it. He grabs another pair in a half size smaller. "Put these on." I huff and I puff and I put those boots on.  Ray looks approving, if not a bit smug. This is a man who not only knows his shit and he knows he knows his shit. "They snug across the top of your foot?" Yes. "Is your heel slippin' in the back?" Yes.  Ray nods and instructs, "Go walk around the store. Do a couple of laps."  Hollee and I begin our walk. Ray heads over to another customer.  Hollee and I mosey along.

Ray catches up to us near the Stetson hats. "Yer feet hurt?" he asks me. "Nope. I'm good to go." and I begin to walk to the check out. "Not yet." Ray informs me, "Yer getting there, but take another lap so we'll know." And so we do. Ray catches up with us again, this time we're looking at the men's boots. Ray gives us a little lesson on how boots are made, the leather used and most importantly that the orange boots in the store are not UT Orange, they areOklahoma orange and if anyone wore them and said they are UT orange, they'd probably get their ass butt kicked. Good to know. Definitely.

Ray inquires about any pain I may be experiencing. "No pain. They still feel tight across the top of my foot." Ray wants to know how my arch feels. "Fine." Ray nods. He takes another look at me. Waits for a moment and tells me, "Well, I think yer ready. Usually by this time, if the boots didn't fit right, you'd be beggin me to take em off your feet." Ray gives us the sign to follow him to the register.  In my head I tell myself "Git along little Devra. Go git you some boots!"  As we walk Ray explains how fitting properly boots is an art, "Boots can't be comfortable right from the start, they need to be broke in. If they are too loose across the top of the  foot, then, as the boot stretches, the foot will not be positioned correctly inside." And ill fitting boots result in boots that stay in the closet and never get worn again.

So a big 10 gallon hat tip to Ray. It's been two weeks since I purchased my boots and hot damn! I am a powerful and confident cowgirl once again. While boots are made for walking, my boots are made to kick ass...and that's just what I'm gonna do.

Devra also wears her boots and kicks ass at Parentopia.

An original DC Metro Moms post