Okay. Originally, I was going to do a post on polyamoury… but that’s still in the draft stages (and, anyway, I can always do “S is for Sharing” or “P is for Polyamoury” or “L is for Love without Limits” or whatever… I’m not tied to “Frubbly” for this topic). Besides. My partner/servant is competing for the Ottawa Bootblack title in a little less than a month, and I wanted to squee on a related topic before it got too late.

To wit: F is for Footwear.

Now, you all know that I love footwear, and that I’m wanted my Ghost to start making boots for me. Well, my young lady has just moved that much closer to being able to do it.
See… F is also for Fluevogs, of which I have a pair. A pair with-which I am not, in any way, gentle (although I do Mind The Road Salt in Winter). My Ghost says that Leathermen wear boots like they’re show pieces, but leatherdykes? We just live in them. It means that, when my young lady was Blacking at a local fundraiser, she saw pair after pair of pretty-much immaculate boots turning up on her stand but, when she was Blacking at Unholy Harvest over this past Thanksgiving Weekend, she was doing something more along the lines of Emergency Coblery on boots that had last been seen tromping through the woods, or that needed a new heel or a re-treaded sole, or a new dye-job, or all of the above.

I am like my Sisters. I live in my boots.

Consequently, I wore through the inner lining, and destroyed the heel counter in the left one – there was just the outer suede shell left between me and the elements.

So my Ghost made anew heel cup for me. She cut a strip of leather, punched holes, sewed it together, and trimmed it, and then did reconstructive surgery on the inside of my boot. I’m right bloody proud of her. (And also happy to be able to wear my boots again, seeing as it snowed the other day. O.O)

Anyway. That’s my squee. 🙂 See you on November 9-10th for IML and the Ottawa Bootblack competition. 😀

Ms Syren.