A Boot Tale

It was only October, but it was getting chilly, and I knew that it was time to purchase nice, new flat boots.
I went into a store and tried on beautiful boots. I looked at them with lovie dovie eyes. Oh, boots, how nice you look! Modest and fancy. Bold yet subtle. Fashionable yet quiet.
I looked at the price and debated. They were pricey. The small rational voice popped in my head and nudged: come on! It's for shidduchim.

You are so right, Ms. Voice-in-my-head.

I bought them with a smile. Left the store with a smile. And came home with a smile. (Am I too materialistic? Hmmm.)

I had a date a week later. I proudly donned the boots. FAIL
FFWD to the next week. FAIL
FFWD again. FAIL
and again.
and again.
and again.
and again.
FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL. MAJOR FAIL!

The boots were crying to me. Oh, all we've done is parade around many different places and boroughs, and now, we're getting old. Our color is fading. The material isn't as shiny as it once was.

My friend and I were talking on the phone about clothing (of course), and she told me about a new pair of beige boots she bought. She envisioned wearing them while dating her hubby. But no. She didn't meet him yet. And her boots are not staying clean.
"yeah, I know what you mean. My boots were reserved for Mr. Right, but now they're slowly deteriorating."

I partially joked with her that HaShem should please send us our zivugim while our boots are still alive and well!

The next day I texted her "my boots aren't getting any younger."

If I recall correctly, her response was along the lines of "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Gotta love my friendies!