Boots

I found the leather boots I want. I’ve been searching off and on for months for those perfect, chestnutty, softened-to-perfection leather boots, and there they are. The perfect subtly-pointed toe and laces up to mid shin are calling my name while the price tag of 87 dollars stares me in the face.

You know, there are children in starving in India, and I want boots. Why? Why will I stay up all night long dreaming of floral tunics and scrunched wool socks that would go lovely with my dreamy boots? (Oh, and don’t forget the braided leather belt I scored at the thrift store in Florence-that will top it all off nicely.)

I’m not sure why.

I wish I was artsy; or maybe just gutsy enough to dress like those artsy-looking girls whose beautiful ensembles I stare at longingly on campus. They’re so hip, so attractive, so much better at expressing themselves.

But you know, I’ve always been t-shirt and jeans girl. I didn’t start wearing makeup til I graduated from high school. Wearing any color besides black, brown or blue was a big deal up until a year or so ago. But I’m not dull am I? Am I?

I want to buy old, ugly skirts and turn them into compliment-generating machines. I want to sew cute bags and make funky feather-laden accessories and find vintage Italian shoes that make me feel like a woman when I wear them. I want those gaga eyes that followed me when I walked down Florentine streets again.

I’m studying all of the time. I pretend like I’m all selfless and unmaterialistic. I'm going to be volunteering in India. I have little money and what resources and time I do have I feel like should be used for something besides a likely short-lived fashion obsession. But I just feel so empowered when I style my hair and wear something daring. So what gives?

How about this? It’s my birthday as of an hour and a half ago. Just buy me my dream boots so I don’t have to feel guilty when I do.