Boots Gone Wild!

Thomas will be 4 years old Wednesday. We had the celebration this weekend. There was cake, ice cream, toys, clothes, people, and everything else that involves the traditional birthday event. Unfortunatley, this month is the cowboy stage. Okay...this is Mississippi and not Texas. That means that cowboy boots don't go with everything. I decided when I was 8 that my son would not have a pair of these horrible excuse for a fashion statement. I remember being so embarressed to be seen with my brother when he wore his imitation snake skin, chrome tipped cowbow boots out in public with shorts and a tank top. I could not believe my mother let him out of the house dressed like that. Yes, I have to admit that it was the 80's, and I was wearing jelly shoes with colored socks, but I somehow thought that this was the best thing that happened to fashion since tight rolled jeans. Back to the subject. My mother decided that the best thing in the world to buy Thomas for his birthday would be a shiny set of cap guns with a holster. I must admit that he looked absotuely adorable with these oversized guns hanging from his little waist all the way to his knees, but the only thing these play guns did was reinforce the idea that cowboy boots were a must have. I tried to avoid the subject entirely when my mother so graciously told Thomas that momma would buy him his cowboy boots since she had got him the guns. I did everything I could not to turn into the girl from the exorcist and rotate my head around while screaming obsenities in a voice that would bring the devil to his knees. I was doomed. Their was no way out of this. My child was crying for cowboy boots, it was his birthday, his nanna told him I would buy them, and those eyes...they get me everytime. So its 6:30pm, and I am driving to Tupelo to get the damn cowboy boots and be back for cake and ice cream by 8:00pm. I am completely determined to get the most fashionable boots possible when I realize I can get him a pair of Justin boots. Thank god I live in Mississippi. Every male I have ever known has a pair of these boots. The more worn out they are the better. There is no chrome or animal skin patterns. I get to Scruggs, find the Justin boot, and tell the girl to get me this boot (make sure it's this boot) in a 91/2. Okay now I turn into the exorcist girl. There is no 91/2 in this boot. There is not anything close to it (fuck). I glance at the other boots, and they all ooze rodeos, tight wranglers, and memories of 8 year old embarressment. I look at my watch, realize I can't go home empty handed, pick the plainest pair they have in his size and head home. While driving home I yell a few choice words, glance into the passenger seat at the most disgusting excuse for a pair of shoes on earth, and shove them under the seat to rid the sight of them in my periphrial vision. I made it home for the party, and watched as my four year old opened up his cowboy boots. I must say if anyone can make these boots wearable it would have to be Thomas. I think he could make anything adorable. However, I did sneak them off of him and hide them while he slept just to have to bring them back out when he woke up. All the torture was worth it when he grabbed my face with both hands gave me a big kiss, and said and I quote "Tank you momma buying me dat."