worth waiting for

I know I've said it before myself, it's one of those pithy little sayings that sneaks into anyone's vernacular, but I sure dislike the phrase "worth waiting for." Geez, lady, of all the things to pick apart, right? But what's the implication there? Once some long sought after item (person, experience, state of being) is acquired, is it really that the waiting was "worth it" or that it's just a relief not to be waiting anymore?

I think about this with regard to my boy. How perfectly he fits into our family -because, hello, he is a part of our family. And how I can't imagine having a different kid, like had I actually gotten knocked up in those five long years we were trying to, because, uh, I didn't and he's here now and what else is he going to do but be a part? And this would be an ideal circumstance for saying it was worth it, the waiting, every last, disappointing bit of it. But why the need to discredit the experience of being miserable by jumping to the happy end point? The waiting sucked. period. He was a happy, wonderful surprise. period. Two whole separate situations with two whole separate affects on me. Having the boy stuffed the hole with balled up newspaper, but the wind can still blow through.

That's a heavy example, and I wasn't going to be heavy here, this space is light and neutral (and boring, okay, I said it so you don't have to. d-u-l-l, boring. i'm having a hard time finding my public voice, which is why i've been so quiet. it was easier to write here when I was tagging along on that post-a-day in November business -no more interesting, but easier- but now I'm waiting for inspiration to hit and and it's not hitting and what I really need to do is just stop thinking and start writing).

So, what I really came here to bring you is the conclusion to the desperate plea for the elusive boots. Riveting subject, I tell you!

I'm pleased to report that Zappos finally came through for me and I ordered the ONE PAIR in my size they had in stock (another customer's return, perchance?) and love them more than I have ever loved another pair of boots. Have I ever loved another pair of boots? Have I even owned another pair of boots? In the fifth grade, I sported a pair of magenta ankle boots for half the year. But I wouldn't say I loved them. And sometime during the dark years (those numbers ending with 'teen', more or less, which I've all but blotted out and now keep but a few, select mementos from that time) I briefly flirted with some ill advised countrified fashion/lifestyle choice involving flannel shirts and roper boots and though I may have been quite enamored with those winter white boots for a brief spell, we broke up soon afterwards and never spoke again. Just as we shall never speak of this reference again. Ay!

I anticipate many years of love between me and my new brown leather campers. We got off to a rocky start because I initially wanted to buy them for a certain event in December, which came and went and I remained bootless. And now they're here and I've worn them to the home improvement store, but they've yet to accompany me to any place important.

I hadn't posted since late Sunday night (early Monday) and it comes to this? Dear Diary, today I bought some boots. Tonight I might wash my hair. Clearly not worth waiting for.