It had to be done. I knew it. It was the right thing to do. It’s what I would have advised someone else to do. Get rid of them.
My most favorite boots, and dare I say my most favorite footwear had to go. They had ripped,although I don’t know when or under what circumstances it happened, and they no longer held the value they once had. Truth be told, I purchased these beauties as a result of returning another pair I had received as a gift. So often in the past I have kept a gift just because it was a gift or I didn’t want to be ‘caught’ not wearing/using/displaying it. Thankfully I have since grown out of that mentality. I’m a big girl now and can return or exchange items to suit myself, still keeping (I hope) the spirit and intention of the gift.
I did what I could to salvage them. The first thing I did, of course, was to try to get them professionally repaired. I found a great little while-you-wait shoe repair shop. It’s barely a hole in the wall and received good reviews. I had good luck there in the past, so thought for sure this would be a quick and easy repair. The rip was neatly contained within a seam; a few stitches and we’d be done. Not so. The cobbler looked at it this way and that way, and said the only way the rip could be repaired is if the stitching was perpendicular to the seam. Against the sleek lines of the boot, it would look pretty messy, the other boot would have to match, and they’re not leather so…wait, what? They’re not leather? I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise thinking I’ve been wearing leather boots? I’d have to ponder that one later. I asked about gluing the seams together and was told it wouldn’t work. There was really nothing that could be done to restore the natural beauty of this boot.
Of course I went straight home and crazy-glued the rip myself. The glue dried nicely and looked good as new. Then I put on the boot. Rip. Maybe if I always wore the same color tights as the boots, it wouldn’t be noticeable. These boots were made for walking, running standing and sitting, and always looking good. Could one small rip really make a difference? I tried to convince myself that there was a way to keep wearing these boots because after all, they fit the criteria of what to keep in your closet:
Do you love them? Check
Do they fit you well, now? Check
Do they make you feel good when you wear them? Check, check
Do people compliment you when you wear them? Check, check, check
But, alas, they also met these criteria of when to let go of something: damaged beyond repair.
Farewell, my pretty boots; you served me well.