I had a wonderful weekend. We had Monday and today off for Presidents Day and my husband and I took off to my home town of New York City. I packed my new grey Frye boots as my weekend shoe of choice, and they came through like champs. Poor things, they had a trial by fire. Last night it started sleeting while we were eating dinner with friends and it continued for the mile-long walk home. Today it sleeted while we were leaving my parents' apartment and it turned into full-on snow on our bus ride back to Boston. I stepped in snow puddles constantly, during both our rest stop and our way home. The boots seem to be doing fine, but I'm watching them like a hawk to make sure that the water marks don't stain them permanently. I've only had them for three and a half weeks!
Meanwhile, over the weekend, I got reunited with my absolute favorite boots -- yes, my favorites. I have no problem categorizing them as such, because a) I love them so much, and b) I bought them [or rather, my husband bought them for me as a Christmas gift] in Athens in a little store on Ermou Street and they are truly one of a kind.
Aren't they pretty? Forgive the ghetto newspaper roll inside them. My parents and I are all a little paranoid about preserving our shoes' shape and my mom was taking care of my boots for a few weeks while they got resoled. Despite the fact that I own three pairs of grey boots, these are my only boots of this color. They're very slim, not at all bulky, super comfortable, and they have that cool strap that goes around them to buckle at the ankle.
It was quite the odyssey obtaining them, too. When we went to Greece for Christmas of 2008, I had just started my boots fetish. I was set on buying a new pair of boots in Athens. We saw a really nice pair on a big, fancy shop on Ermou Street [THE shopping street in the center of town] and went in to try them on. As my Greek is basic and salespeople are pushy, my husband was my translator. Now, among other random things I know in Greek, I know my shoe size. It's between a 40 and a 41 (in Europe). With boots, I like to go a full-on 41 (equivalent to a 10 here). So I told the lady those two numbers. She brought me back a 40 (after snottily correcting my husband, who had mistakenly said that we wanted to try on the brown boots from the window -- they were TOBACCO-colored). I tried on the boots and said that they felt small. When my husband told her, she informed me that I was wrong. Well, not in so many words, but she refused to bring a bigger size, swore up and down that the boots would stretch with use, despite the fact that they were small. In her store. NOW. My husband, no match for haughty Athenian saleswomen, helplessly told me things like, "She says they're the right size," while I hissed back "Tell her she's a dirty liar!"
Well, we put them on hold and kept on wandering up Ermou. We saw the above beauties in another store. When I told the woman I was between a 40 and 41, she brought both sizes, agreed with me that the size 40 seemed snug, and got our sale. I've been the proud owner of them ever since. And they're way nicer than the original tobacco pair.
I actually wear them very little because I'm so paranoid that they won't last forever. However, I've successfully resoled them this month and they're now good for another year of cautious use.
LOVE.
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