Genetics

In the past year I've become addicted to Mormon fashion blogs. Cute modest clothes sometimes with a little wit or humor thrown in; and, admittedly, some are better than others, but I'm only there for shallow reasons anyway. To look at pretty clothes!! (Not to mention distract myself while at work.) I don't really like things like the Sartorialist or other similar type deals; they just seem so pretentious to me. Fashion for fashion's sake. I want real clothes I would actually wear that are flattering to my body, not my puffed up ego that wants to make a "statement."

Now, tirades aside, my penchant for these blogs has led me to crave different items for closet. Most recently boots. Not just any boots. I want knee-high, brown or tan, leather (not suede), flat or kitten-heeled wedges, narrow-toed boots. Sounds too demanding and specific? I give you exhibit A, B, C, D, and E. (Yes two of those are not Mormon, but you get the point.) I've always had a thing for riding boots. It's probably the British woman in my heart longing for classy, equestrian things.

Why, if my desire is so strong, do I not yet have a pair of these amazing boots? You ask such pertinent questions. No, it's not because I'm a total cheapskate and won't bring myself to buy them. No, it isn't because I haven't been to two DSWs and four Rosses in search for them. It's because of one reason. Genetics.

The two people that supposedly love me most in the world, who would do anything for me, who have purportedly sacrificed all kinds of things for my well-being, have cursed me. They gave me freaking fat calves!! Not cankles mind you. Fat calves. There's a world of difference and I can tell you all about it. They have made the hunt for a perfect pair of size 7 1/2 boots to increase my style options seemingly futile. And all they can do is laugh about it. What pirates.

The culprits. Plus a cute little girl to soften the blow.