Drumsticks, Comas, and Boots

I know it's a rather strange title, but the explanation will lend itself shortly. Last Sunday, Wade and I traveled back to the clinic for a second time, only to find out that the antibiotic they first gave me was incorrect. A new antibiotic, a nose spray, and a daily allergy pill later, we jetted out of the clinic in hopes that our immune systems were high enough to wield off whatever it was the clinic full of ill subject's bodies were tainted with. After picking up the prescriptions, we went to grab some lunch. The last time we ate at the Sirloin Stockade was right after we moved here, and we didn't go back. However, we passed by, the place was packed, and the nine foot stucco cow in front had detached itself from the flatbed trailer in front and literally laid 'tits up' in the parking lot. The laughter induced by this sight was enough of a nudge for us to give it a second try. We got our trays and made our way through the buffet line. Wade, being the steak and potato man that he is, waited in line at the grill for his slab-o-beef. An African American lady swaggered right on up there to the counter and said, "How you ain't gonna have no drumsticks?" Sidebar- her asking where the drumsticks are is a lot like me saying the phrase, "Oh my stars" when something surprises me and having the person stare up at the sky as if I am referring to the stars themselves... It just doesn't equate. The person behind the counter stared at her in a state of confusion, and she frustratedly added this, "You know, chicken legs! The ones with the handle for the kids!" I am glad I had a clear route to our table because I could not suppress the laughter. Wade managed to keep it together to receive his meat snack. I guess nothing comes between a man and his meat...

This past weekend we trekked up to San Antonio. I have experienced my share of food comas from overindulging in some of life's finer cuisine, however, I have never experienced a fashion coma quite like I did on Saturday at La Cantera. Whoever designed the layout of this 'plaza' knew what they were doing. The huge Bass Pro sits gallantly in front for the men to peruse, but behind Bass Pro is a little strip of gold. Usually, I go in with him and cruise around the women's clothing section until I can't take it anymore. Then I end up over in the guns where Wade is. While he is talking shop with whomever is at the counter, I act as though I am a knowledgeable citizen of arms. What I am really doing is imagining what it might have been like to go blazing saddles across the wild open west with my chaps and pearl snap, hunting down bank robbers with my double barrel coach gun. In my fascinating western, Boudreaux of course somehow rides with me. Nonetheless, Saturday, I decided to hang up my spurs and go over to the Nordstrom and Saks outlets. I could be in the most heinous of moods, and setting foot in those stores would instantly realign my chi. I spent about an hour in the Nordstrom store ogling over it all, then went down to Saks for the grand finale. As I entered the threshold, the smell of buttery soft leather rushed through my nose- thank goodness I can finally smell again or I would have missed that little added bonus. I immediately found my breathing picked up and I had to start in sections, one at a time, so as to not become overwhelmed. I fell in love when I got to the shoes. I collect these tiny shoes called, Just the Right Shoe. It is a collection of all different kinds of shoes. A designer, Beverly Feldman, took a few of these tiny shoes and made them in to human shoes. You can imagine my splendor when I saw that one particular shoe that I love lay in front of me in a true 7 1/2 just waiting to don my foot. I put them on and walked all around the store. I did not mind the side ways glances or sly stares. For all intensive purposes, that stroll around the store in those fabulous shoes was a much needed therapy session. Next to the shoes sat the bags. Shoes and handbags will always be dear to my heart. Probably parallel to the way that guns and knives will always be near to Wade's. I found myself drunk with the smell in the air and giddy with delight just to look...then I went to try on snake boots. That's right, reality snaps in pretty quick sometimes, wouldn't you say?

We wheeled on over to a boot shop to find me a pair of work boots. The ones I have are hand-me-downs from my nephew, and I have had them for years. I love these boots though, for they are worn in with character and sass. I went to put them on the other day and low and behold, an organism of some kind had taken them over. Hopefully, Wade can remove said problem so I can at least wear them. But they are rather worn and bear no support anymore. We go in and the sales lady says, "Oh I don't think we have anything for you", right off the bat. A little background: on the way to San Antonio, Wade and I talked about how selling cars (anything really), is tricky because if you rub the person the wrong way, they are going to go somewhere else. That's exactly what I wanted to do. Instead, we went through the boot section and actually came across the pair we were looking for. I tried them on, they seemed to fit, so Wade asked how much they cost. She said, "Oh, they are verrry expensive?" What am I caught in a weird version of Pretty Woman when she walks in as a common person and they turn their noses up at her? I yanked those boots off, tipped an imaginary hat, and rolled out. We squealed into another store to try our luck there. Much the same, except this time his first response was, "We can look, but I don't really think I have anything"...Long story short, I wanted to hop up onto the glass case housing all their little gems of glory and yell, "Where's Walter?!" Walter at Mr. Boots in San Angelo, of course. He always helps us with anything we need. If it's not there, he'll get it there, and he'll do it with a smile. What happened to that can do attitude? Maybe that's just one more thing that's being pushed aside and forgotten right along with the values and morals we hold so precious and dear.

When you put it all together, it's a varied vast world we experience. Cultures run the gammot of differences, risen spirits can hide within the confines of a Feldman shoe, and it pays to add a little kindness to someone's day- your job could depend on it.