The dingo ate my baby


Yes. It’s another shoe story a la Lillian.

The dingo ate my baby

At the store in an attempt to buy saddle shoes for Cliffy, I look over at Lil who is admiring all the girl shoes displayed on the wall. Her hands clutched to her heart, I hear her mutter, “These shoes are fabulous.” Followed by a sigh.

No luck in the saddle shoe department. As we start on our way out, Lillian and I spy a small stack of boxes on the floor of the shoe department. Perched on top were bubble-gum pink patent leather Dingo cowboy boots. (Or as Lil says in the spirit of conservation: cow boots.)

We both stopped in our tracks, then approached the stack slowly. Then I saw it. The sign that said 50% off. I think I heard angels singing. Then I said the words you can’t ever turn back on: “Lillian, should we see if these are in your size?” At that moment, cash register bells joined the angel chorus.

And there they were. One of the four remaining pairs was obviously meant for Miss Lil.

She looked at me. Tempering her emotion, she said quietly, “I’m going to be a cowgirl for Halloween.” At that moment, I realized she possessed the gift. The ability for any female worth her weight in DSW coupons to justify a shoe purchase–practical or otherwise.

Needless to say, the Dingo ate my baby. And me.

3 thoughts on “The dingo ate my baby

  1. Clara was like that when she was younger. Except her boots were red. She wore them everywhere. Cryed when we had to take them off for bed. She still remembers those boots til this day. LOL

  2. Pingback: Living in a winery | Five Halos

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