Boots

I’ve changed from red patent leather shoes to cowboy boots. I wear my western boots year round. In all, I have ten pairs.
I have, I would, I could, wear them anywhere.

 Remember the song from Sesame Street? “One of these things is not like the others…” You’re right! The polka dot boots do not belong. But those ugly rubber boots have had the most use and are a necessity. (Not that the cowboy boots are not.)

Last year, on July 9th to be most precise, I ventured out at dusk to retrieve a shovel. A friend had given me some plants, and even though we had guests staying with us for the weekend, I had to plant them right that minute. As I moved the wheelbarrow I felt a sting on the top of my flip-flopped foot. At that time, I thought I had stepped in yet another ground beehive. A few weeks earlier I was stung 19 times by a swarm of angry bees. I prepared myself for more stings, but I actually felt fortunate to be stung only once. When I looked down a snake was coiled at my feet. I stared at it, memorizing its markings, knowing that I should be able to identify the snake just in case it was poisonous.

When my feet became unglued I went back in the house and announced that a snake bit me. Our guests and my husband flew into action. Helen had a tourniquet tied around my ankle. Tony dashed through the garage grabbing an ax on the way; Charlie grabbed a broom. I calmly explained the snake’s GPS and joked that Charlie was going to sweep the snake to death.

My foot began to swell. Immediately. Immensely. My toes were the size of sausages by the time we got to Urgent Care. The doctor told Tony to take me to the Emergency Room. (We live about 25 miles from the nearest hospital.) By the time we arrived at the ER my leg, from the tips of my toes to my hip, was twice its normal size.

I identified the snake from the poster conveniently hung outside a treatment room as a Copperhead. FYI – They administer anti-venom only as a last resort. The side affects are as dangerous as the bite. After 9 hours of antibiotics, painkillers and monitoring I was sent home when the swelling finally stopped. The good news: I didn’t die. The bad news: I was in La-la Land for two weeks. Yeah, I saw you there. I was the lady with a fat chick’s leg. I was in pain and had to use crutches for about three weeks. And I was terrified to go outside for the rest of the summer.

My husband bought me those useful ugly rubber boots for protection against snakes.

He’s such a patient man and put up with my crazy ways and my whimsical attire for the past 33 years. But do you know he wouldn’t let me wear those polka dot boots to lunch at Hardee’s?

I do venture outside again, because I love to dig in the dirt. But you can be sure I wear my ugly polka dot boots.