From
Zack, who gets a kick out of her kicks.
I was in a small town in the middle of the state one evening. I'm honestly not even sure where this place was; God himself couldn't find this town. No stoplights, no stop signs, hell I'm not even sure this place has running water. My GPS thinks I'm in a field. All that's missing are a few tumbleweeds.
I found a restaurant that served food. Okay, so it was just a counter in the general store, but it sufficed. As I'm wolfing down a sandwich, I spied a lady walking in. Unlike the guy sitting next to me who is the spitting image of Cletus from The Simpsons, she had all her teeth, so I'm pretty sure she ain't from 'round here. But she wore cowboy boots. Soft brown leather, fringe, calf-length, nice stitching pattern with a pair of tight jeans tucked into them. Oh my. Cowgirl, you just made my night.
I may have been raised in the city, but I'm a country boy at heart. I have family that lives on a mountain right smack in the middle of the Appalachia region. My summers growing up consisted of visiting my redneck relatives: Square dances and flirting with Southern gals, so many oh-so-wonderful memories. Besides, cowgirl boots are just about the sexiest footwear I can think of.
Sure, she wasn't actually a cowgirl; she was from Boston and her accent was tragically missing a twang. But hey, slip on a pair of those boots, I'll grab my Stetson and we'll go play outlaw and tavern girl.
This is cute. I can appreciate a decent pair of cowboy boots, for sure. I also really like it when guys wear Beatle boots. It tickles my ear to hear him click-clacking on the kitchen tile looking for another beer in the fridge.
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