My wife and I sat down at the restaurant and ordered our dinner. My wife had a tough week, and we needed a relaxing night out. I tried to focus on my wife, but I couldn’t stop looking at the guy sitting in the far corner.
The guy looked normal enough. He was tall and wore a long sleeve shirt and jeans. I couldn’t stop looking though at his brown leather cowboy boots. He looked like he had been riding his horse on some pastureland, or better yet, the set of the show Yellowstone. He was enjoying a beer and some appetizers with a couple of friends.
Reach for the sky
I’ve long loved the look of Cowboy Boots. As a kid, I loved westerns. I dreamed I was John Wayne or some other no-nonsense hero, who rides in on his horse in the nick of time to save the day.
Once when I was 8 or 10 or so, my mom bought me a pair of boots after I whined about how I had to have a pair. I wore them all the time for a week or so and then they sat for weeks in my closet. When they finally caught my attention again, I wore them for another week and then set them aside forever in the closet again until they couldn’t fit anymore. My poor mother.
Never squat with your spurs on
While I love the look of cowboy boots, they have never looked “right” on me. I can’t imagine that has changed much in the intervening years. Oh, I would love the extra height they would offer. When you’ve always dreamed of being six feet tall or taller and playing shooting guard in the National Basketball Association, any extra height can make you drool. And they would give me a rugged look and style too. I’m just not sure they would fit in well with the polo shirt or ragged sweatpants that I wear most days.
The men who look good in Cowboy Boots have confidence and a certain je ne sais quoi. They’re ready to stop the herd of cattle from heading in the wrong direction or pull your car out of the snow or a muddy ditch. They’re men who can take care of themselves. They speak softly and carry a big stick. They eat nails for breakfast. You can’t be an accountant and pull off wearing cowboy boots.
I’m no accountant, but I’m not a boot wearer either. Oh, well, maybe in my next life. At least, I can be John Wayne in my dreams.