I am convinced I started the world on loving gumboots.
I have always been a gumboot lover—an open-gumboot-lover when I was little, and a secret one as I grew older. I used to have one pair of gumboots that I loved to death. Utter death. Unfortunately my feet insisted on growing, and I insisted on gumboots, and together we trode through the world with sore toes because neither of us could agree on what size to be. Then, I think, my mum noticed how much I liked gumboots and we progressed from the fluoro-pink-blinky-bill-boots to a world unlimited with colours, types, styles and…best of all…sizes.
But you can’t wear gumboots all your life. Or so I thought. So I abandoned them at the age when my feet didn’t feet into kids’ shoes anymore. And I haven’t worn boots much since.
I still liked them though. I still stayed a secret-gumboot-lover.
And wouldn’t you know, after a few years, gumboots seemed to pop all over the place.
Shops stocked them. In the zaniest of colours and in all sizes, shapes and styles. Maybe I just didn’t notice them before. Maybe I only noticed them when I gave up on ever finding any in my size. But there they were, here and there and everywhere. Just when I gave them up. Drat.
I put my secret-admiration of gumboots on hold for a while and moved onto other wonderful and noble things. Like thongs. (The only shoe, right?).
But when I see people wearing gumboots I still smile and think, “Ah-hah! I started this all! I wore gumboots everyday for years, in the shops, outside and inside, everywhere you needed shoes, I wore gumboots. And now the world agrees with me!” Who needs farms to wear gumboots? You can just wear them…because.
I am still a secret-gumboot-lover. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t own a pair, and it doesn’t distress me beyond redemption either. But one day, when I’ve sold my books and I’m rich beyond imagination, I might buy myself a pair of gumboots. Nice ones. Red. Or colourful.
But for now I’ll stay secret.
FIVE MINUTES. STOP.
Streams of Consciousness Sunday!