Pair #29- Foul and Fair, Dancing and Singing

These are not what you'd generally think of as dancing shoes, are they?

Allow me a quick memory. When I was about six, someone bought me an umbrella that I absolutely adored. It had pink ribs and trim and was made of thick clear vinyl. A blond Cabbage Patch Kid was painted on the side, dressed in rain gear. Above her braided, behatted head were the words "Fowl Weather Friend."

Oh, how my mother hated that umbrella! I was just learning to read, and as much as I loved words even then, I didn't understand her objections. Then, as now, when my mother objects to something it is always strenuous and repetitive. Every time it rained, I ran to the closet, eager to take out my cherished umbrella, and every time she would snarl about how much she hated that god-damned piece of garbage.

"Who uses the word "foul" on something meant for a child!? And SPELLS it WRONG? It doesn't MEAN anything! Is it raining CHICKENS? It's chicken shit, is what it is..." I didn't care. I looked forward to the "fowl" weather, because it meant I got to carry that umbrella, so shiny, and pink, and wonderful. And I have generally been confused by "fowl" and "foul" ever since.

Now let's get to the happy refrain. These boots, Hunters, (no surprise, I'm sure, given my acute case of anglophilia), are definitely foul weather friends. In the same way that I loved the rain when I was six, these make me love the rain twenty-five years later.

They make me feel like Gene Kelly, twirling my umbrella, as I stomp with glee through the deepest nastiest New Yorkiest puddles (always avoiding the neon green ones, which I am certain are toxic and would eat right through my royally approved rubber.) The boots began developing that strange yellow patina soon after I got them, and I once tried to wash it off. Now I understand that they are meant to look like that- like ripe grapes, and I like it. I wear them with my Barbour jacket, and whistle, dancing, and singing in the rain.