These Boots are Made for Walking?

The warm spell has passed and it's snowing outside which meant that I walked to work this morning through a veritable Christmas card. Picture the scene: the trees were covered in a light veil of snow, their dark trunks contrasting with the white blanket that covered the ground. As I walked, my footsteps made their marks on the untouched carpet leaving their evidence of my passing (yes, there was only one set of prints, no Jesus wasn't carrying me). It's nice to briefly enjoy winter because, frankly, living in a Northern Climate isn't easy - it carries its host of inconveniences and headaches. While I was comfortably clad in winter gear from head to toe, I observed pictures along the way of Winter gone horribly wrong. I know it's hard to put away the strappy sandals and the swirly summer skirts as the weather starts to cool. It's difficult to look in the mirror when you are covered in a hat, scarf, bulky winter coat, mittens, thick wool tights and water resistant footwear - "man, I look fine today!" are not the words that come to mind. Yet, there is something to be said about arriving safely at your destination without suffering the agony of frostbite or a bruised tailbone. My father used to harass my sisters and me with the phrase "style or comfort, girls" which he would repeat ad nauseum throughout the colder months. Today, I saw the poster girl for that phrase. I first noticed her coming towards me from a distance. She was clad from head to toe in the uniform of many Torontonians: black, black and more black. Her long dark hair was pulled back, her winter jacket was sleek and fitted and was only slightly shorter than her black pencil skirt. Below her skirt, only a small portion of her black stockings showed before leading into her knee-high, kitten-heeled boots. It was a fine outfit for a picture. It was a terrible ensemble for negotiating the snow-covered sidewalks. She clutched her coffee cup in one hand as she extended the other, maintaining a precarious balance as she hobbled along taking dangerous, flat-footed steps to avoid slipping. I don't think that was the effect she'd hoped to create as she'd dressed that morning. I don't think she'd pictured a tight-rope walking, black-clad clown as she stepped out into the snow that morning. Honey, those boots aren't made for walking, I thought smugly as I stomped past her. It isn't always a one or the other equation but if it had to be, she could take style, I thought, I'll take comfort.