The fall of my footsteps

It was blisteringly hot again today in Dallas. Upon waking, I reluctantly donned my jogging gear and hit the pavement. As soon as I stepped out into the sweltering sunshine, my guilt about having gotten up so late dissolved into gratitude at having a mere 30 minutes to make my loop around the neighborhood.

I've devised a clever little plan for getting back into the habit of running every day. Until the temperature drops to a reasonable level, I only run in the shady patches of sidewalk. I spend my time in the sunny stretches catching my breath, unless I've found my stride, in which case I lumber on until the need for oxygen becomes too great. Perhaps eventually I'll get back to running five miles a day, but I'm in no real hurry to do so.

Anyway, even though it's freaking hot outside, I'm way tired of wearing capris and sandals to work, in part because my sandals make an obnoxiously loud, distracting slappy sound when I walk. So, weather be damned, I decided on Monday to break out the high-heeled boots. My heavens do I love my boots. They're black, and they make me a clomping, towering 6 feet tall. Sunday I was a dwarf in flip-flops glancing shyly up at my co-workers; Monday I was a Proud Amazon peering down at those who dared tread nearby.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of a ... layout editor who'd better quit fiddling with my head spex.

So, even though it's still hot outside, it's just about time for fall footwear in Shaddockville. Be on the lookout for one awesomely high-heeled pair of ankle boots, two pair of black knee-high boots (one studded, one sleek), and one pair of red, stiletto-heeled calf-high boots.

Incidentally, the forecast calls for cooler weather later in the week. My boots and I welcome the change with a merry, noisy waltz.