so that's just what I'll do.
Last night, I had a disturbing dream. In that dream, I was married to Jessica Simpson.
Now that isn't the disturbing part. In fact, so far that doesn't sound all that bad. Except that in my dream, I never got around to any of the "honeymoon activities".
Oh no...in my dream, Jessica spent the entire time we were together asking me to help her record her cover of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots were Made for Walking". There are times when I curse being a guitar player. Who sleeps.
So, I woke up this morning, and my first thought was WTF? My second thought was "how the hell am I gonna get this song out of my head?". My third thought was "damn, maybe this is my subconscious telling me that I own too many pairs of cowboy boots."
Because, in fact, I do. I own ostrich skin boots, crocodile skin boots (sorry Sobek), snakeskin boots (python), boots of spanish leather (cowhide, I assume), and boots made from the tanned human skin of runaway hitchhikers who I have strangled and buried in my basement.
OK..I'm kidding about the last one. Just trying to keep you paying attention. Anyway, after I got done mulling over my selection of cowboy boots, I had another thought. What if I combined my dream about Jessica Simpson, my boots, and my favorite women of the blogosphere?
So I present to you: What would life be like for my cowboy boots if I was married to....
LauraW: I think that all my boots would be arranged in ascending order based on which animal could eat/kill the other animal. For example, the cow would be furthest on the left, as an ostrich could kill him. The ostrich, in turn would be killed by a croc, which in turn would be killed by the python. Finally man, as apex predator, would be furthest to the right. Further, I think the refrigerator would have an occasion poem written about my boots held up by Martha Stewart brand magnets.
Again, just kidding about the whole human boot thing. Maybe.
Mrs. Peel: I think that my closet floor would see my boots arranged either by taxonomic order or by DNA tracing to determine which creatures were most closely related to one another. Then again, she's an Aggie, so I guess I shouldn't complain as long as she doesn't insist on me wearing spurs.
Civetta: Heh. Do they make boots out of Penicillin? No? Well then I guess my boots would probably include a pair made out of Velvet with 6 inch combination see through heels/goldfish bowls. I'd wear them, but only when I felt it necessary to remind her of the strength of my pimp hand.
Lipstick: I'd be self-conscious about wearing my boots in public, as her boots would probably be 2 sizes longer and at least one size wider. I'd probably have to tell people that this was attributable to her having a rare condition in which 6 webbed toes grow on each foot. I just can't see this ending well for anyone.
Sweet Jayne: I think Sweet Jayne wouldn't care how they were arranged in my closet, as long as they matched my suits. And I think she would always have something nice to say about them, even if she truly hated them. She's sweet that way.
Elzbth: I think my boots would end up neatly organized in a Shoe Tree. Only it wouldn't be a "shoe tree". It would have a hand made embossed label that said "Sh Tr" on it. And each distinctive slot on the "Sh Tr" would be labelled. There would be an "Strch Bts" slot, and a "Crcdl Bts" slot and a "Strngld Htchhkrs" slot, etc.
Mrs. Geezer: I know one damn thing for certain: all my boots would be thrown out and replaced with custom made Italian footware. Thank god for Retired Geezer's Life Insurance. It's for a good cause though. After all, If I'm gonna be married to Idaho's answer to Ann-Margret I have to look good.
Mrs. Michael: I think she would be so thankful that she finally had a man who didnt need Velcro to fasten his shoes, that she would probably offer to regularly shine my boots. And by shine my boots, I think you know what I mean.
Mrs. Brewfan: Why buy the cow when you are already getting the milk for free? I foresee no changes to the current boot status.
Anyway, those are my thoughts. Feel free to chime in with your own.