Biscuit Legs

So I took the cooler weather as an opportunity to wear boots one last time. I love boots.  I originally discovered this during my I Hate My Legs phase.  I have ugly legs – they are thick and unshapely. They literally look like a stove pipe. A fat, fleshy stove pipe.

Very similar to this:

Like this, only flesh. And with varicose veins.

In an attempt to downplay this unfortunate feature, I spent a few years wearing dresses that were long enough to cover the majority of my legs.  As a non-Mormon and woman under the age of 80, you can imagine how difficult it was to find cute dresses that met that criteria.

Boots were my solution. My legs were hid, the dresses were cute and all was right with the world.

I’m over all that now.

I mean, I still have ugly legs. I just no longer care that they’re ugly. I'm on to better things, like hating my stomach.

But I still love a cute boot.

So I whip out some boots and…I can’t get the damn things zipped.

I have gained enough weight that my boots no longer fit.

Do you hear me people, I'm too fat for my boots!!

This is a serious new low.

But I am wearing these damn boots!

So I decide to literally stuff myself into them. I'm just going to stuff the fat into the boots. Zip a little, stuff a little, zip a little, stuff a little. Until I finally managed to get them zipped up almost the entire way.  The last little bit required assistance from a few items I found in the kitchen but by God, they were zipped!

About 2:00 p.m. I noticed some tightness. A little squeezing on my legs. Like they were wrapped just a little too snug.  It wasn’t painful, just mildly annoying.

By 4:00 p.m., all I wanted to do was unzip those damn boots and relieve the pressure. My legs looked like a can of biscuits had exploded.  The fat was literally puffing up and over the boots. This cute look had definitely gone awry.

The minute I got in the car I unzipped those suckers. I did it so fast I had both boots done before the car door even closed. It felt so good, it hurt.

Other than an indention across the front of my leg where the boot seam had been, everything seemed fine. I went home, made a mental note to Google “Boots for stove pipe legs” and threw them in the very back of the closet.

The next morning, as I’m running the razor up my leg, I hit something hard.  What the hell?

I have my leg hiked up on the wall so I bend forward to get a close look and I see a row of blisters. Those boots were so tight I am amazed that there was enough room for any kind of friction but apparently there was…and I have the blisters to prove it.

My fat blistery legs in all their stove pipe glory

I could cry about being so fat that my boots are rubbing wounds on my legs. Or I could just decide that I’m going to burn those freakin boots while I eat a box of chocolate donuts. I'll let you know what I decide...