Boot to the--er, Head.

"Hooch," my mother accused.

"I am NOT," I countered. "KIM!" Shouting to my boss. "My mother just called me a hooch!"

Laughter. No support there.

"Well," Indignance dripping from the phoneline. "if I'm a hooch, then that makes YOU a Hoochy-mama."

Astonished silence. More laughter from the boss.

"I am NOT. How could you say such a thing?!"

"Think about it." Smugness may not get me much, but it is at least satisfying. "If I'm a hooch, then you MUST be a hoochy-mama."

Finally, intelligent words among the laughter from my boss's office.

"It makes good sense!"

There really is nothing like starting off your day by stepping out the door right into a pile of half-frozen dog leavings, which one of your beloved animals has kindly left for you on the front porch. There are worse ways to start off one's day, but I can think of few that are so stupid.

I didn't realize my mistake until I was halfway to work--and it wouldn't even have been then if not for the rich aroma that permeated the air inside my car as the heater kicked in.

Luckily there is still a lot of snow on the ground near my office. However, snow is only useful for removing disgusting things from the bottom of your shoes if you actually sink into it. I scuffed and shuffled in the parking lot for a while, then tried to step into the snow proper for a real cleaning. The first step took me knee deep. The rest, though, had me mincing along an top of the snow like some kind of moronic fairy-princess, looking in dismay at all the other footprints, which actually managed to find the ground. I got hold of a stick, eventually, and tried to pry some of the deeper stuff out of the treads. No luck. More scuffling. Snow mixed with crap was flying everywhere.

I ended up standing in front of the sink in the bathroom armed with papertowels, soap, hot water and my fingernails--and spent another ten minutes trying to get the stuff out. I was a half hour late to work (to be fair, I was a little late to begin with), but now my boots are very, VERY clean.

Close scrutiny of my boots reminded me, though, that they are ancient and falling apart. So I went to the mall on my break, thinking that a nice pair of office boots would not be hard to find.

Apparently, my shoe requirements are unreasonable.

Low heels are unheard of, unless I would like a pair of (undeniably cool) lace-up goth-ish boots from Hot Topic, or an insanely expensive pair of pretty-girl motor-cycle boots that aren't designed to actually be WORN (heaven forbid).

Rounded toes are a faux-pas this year as well, but apperantly zippered stretch snake-skin stilletto boots are totally acceptable, and reasonably priced to boot! (Ha)!

I think I shall start wearing my five-inch thigh boots around town. If that doesn't convince shoe-sellers to start selling boots worth buying, I'm sure nothing will.