Life as an Extreme Sport


It’s odd, memory triggers. I was sifting through LJ, looking at friends posts, when a picture of Diamanda Galas brought back a flood of memories. All for the glint of metal, the toe-guard on a pair of boots.

The abusive ex bought me cowboy boots one year. The year I’d been wanting boots to replace my black, soft leather, pirate/elf-style boots. The ones I’d worn into the ground, and have in some way or another been looking for ever since. He didn’t want me to have that style of boot, though – he thought I should wear cowboy boots. So he bought me very expensive, soft black leather cowboy boots, embroidered from top to bottom in black stitches.

I hated them. But I wasn’t allowed to have that sort of opinion then. It would have been good for a confrontation, for yelling, threats. So instead I tried them on (they fit), and mouthed how nice they were… and that I wouldn’t want to scuff them up, they were so nice. So I needed to get some silver toe-guards for them. And because things were the way they were, with me not having money of my own, the toe-guards were never bought and never put on. But off and on for the next few years, he would drag out why I wasn’t wearing the boots I must not love him because I wasn’t wearing them, and I would point out that I’d happily wear them as soon as we could afford custom work to have toe-guards installed, and that particular game would stay stalled in neutral.

I left the boots behind when I left. To this day, I look for soft leather pirate boots, and walk immediately by the cowboys.