Of all of the things I may feel insecure about, my calves are not one, or two of them. In fact, I only think about them a couple times:
1. When I do calf exercises.
2. When I try on boots.
Now, ever since I was in high school, I've had trouble wearing pretty little shoes. My feet are a little wide, and I used to joke that I was average everywhere except for my fat feet. (How's that for irony?) Anyways, I remember thinking of myself like the stepsisters in Cinderella. I'd try on your basic strappy sandle and my foot would bust out all over the place. But I didn't have to order wide shoes... my feet aren't THAT big. I'd just find different sandals to fit, and I wasn't really upset about it. Then came the boots era. The time where fitting pants into boots became cool, and well, I wanted to play along!
I never check out anyone else's calves. Seriously. If I see you in boots, I'll probably admire them, and that's because they're just pretty. :) I would go and try different boots on, and they usually wouldn't zip up all the way. They'd get stuck in the middle of my calf. Hmph. What gives? It's my calf. It's not like I can put spanx on it. So I started hearing sales people and friends and acquaintances mention "wide calf boots." AHA. So apparently other people have this problem. This "ouch-the-zipper-hurts" problem.
I found some. I have a sinking suspicion that when I wear pants tucked into boots that I don't look like the other people I saw... but I guess I'll avoid mirrors so as not to hurt my feelings. Either way, I love them. They're warmer than flats in the winter, they fit, and let's pretend that brown matches everything.
A few weeks ago, I was wearing them at school. At the end of my TENTH class of the day, when I say good bye to the kiddos, I don't have much left. I can't usually offer the same smile I did earlier that day. I'm wiped. I turned around to leave and say good bye to the teacher, knowing I could go back to my quiet desk. Well, there was another woman in this Kindergarten class with the teacher. A sub? A para? I didn't recognize her. She thanked me for teaching music to the kids, and then asked me where I got my "wide calf boots."
HOLD THE PHONE.
Are you really that good at recognizing calf sizes that you knew mine are wide? Did you see some of my top half and just assume I had big calves? Did I forget to take the W sticker off of the back of them?
Oh, no. Apparently you just forgot your manners.
I just politely replied to her, kept a smile on (though I'm sure my eyes were kind of wide (haha! Get it? Wide!)) and then left.
Do me a favor, will you? Don't ask me where I got jeans to fit over my big ass. Just ask me where I got my jeans. Don't ask me where I found a sports bra strong enough to hold my lumps of nonsense down if we work out together. Just ask me what store I think sells the best sports bras. And don't you dare ask me where I got my wide calf boots. Just ask me where I got my boots. I'll probably offer up all the other information. But just let me offer it up first.
