Story of a Gorgeous Boot

March 24, 2008
By Anne Fosburg, Park City, UT

I’m a boot. A medium brown, high-heeled leather slightly below knee length 2.5-inch heel size seven boot to be exact. I am the most beautiful useful, gorgeous flattering shoe in the world, and I have saved it (the world) on several occasions. Whether you want to hear my immensely exciting and terribly dangerous (for me anyways) experience or not, well that’s just too bad for you. So ha-ha.

I was born in France where my creator, the famous Jean-Pierre Francois handled me with the loving care and excellent handling I deserve. I was locked up in the beautiful glass case on a deep purple velvet cushion where my creator kept me because I was so valuable. None of the other shoes my creator makes get that kind of privilege.

Through the thick glass walls I heard the beginnings of Mozart’s Symphony #5. Someone was at the door!

I heard the butler say, “Why good afternoon Madame. We weren’t expecting you until next week, but I know Monsieur Francois will see you immediately. I will have a servant escort you up.”

Thank you Luke,” said a voice I didn’t recognize, high and tinkly. “You are very kind.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs and stood up straighter, hoping the strange woman wore a size seven. As she entered with Jean-Pierre, I saw her feet. They were beautiful! She was wearing Manolo Blahnics. That meant she was definitely rich enough to afford me. Oh my goodness! Her feet looked like exactly size sevens! And she was looking at me!

“Oh, those are beautiful shoes Jean-Pierre,” she sighed in a light, tinkling French accent.

“Yes, they are indeed. I am afraid though, that they are made of…” I have heard Jean-Pierre’s speech countless times before, so I tune him out and stare at the beautiful woman standing before me. I snap out of it though when I hear the woman start to speak.

“How much are they?” she asked, rolling her ‘r’ slightly.

“Well, um, well, eh $4,500 dollars,” he answered hesitantly.

“Why that’s not bad at all. Especially for such beautiful shoes. I’ll take them.” I was stunned. Then, suddenly, the excitement hit. The most glamorous woman I had ever seen had bought me. And she was so wealthy. Of course, I reasoned, I deserve nothing less.

Next thing I knew, I was on a plane to New York City where Genevieve, (that was my new owner’s name) lived. I was very comfortable in my velvet-lined trunk. When we arrived at her penthouse apartment, Genevieve put me on. Her feet smelled nice and I fit perfectly around her feet.

“Ooh, these boots are so beautiful,” I heard Genevieve sigh. I felt so loved! Finally, I was receiving what I needed and deserved. I was so happy! I felt like jumping for joy!

You must realize that this was my first time ever on someone’s foot. Jean-Pierre was too paranoid to take me out of my glass case. I overreacted a bit but for me it was the equivalent of learning to read or learning how to ride a bike. I had a reason to be this ecstatic.

Years went by without much change. Genevieve wore me to fancy parties and weddings and balls thrown by the president and other such important people. I lived a very happy life until one day when my life was changed forever and I was thoroughly traumatized.

One day while Genevieve and I were driving in her limo, Genevieve noticed a tiny spot near my left heel where my gorgeous leather was starting to fade.

“I shall have to phone Jean-Pierre and see if he can fix them or if I must buy a new pair. I do hope he can fix these for me though, because I have grown rather fond of them.”

A few days later, I overheard Genevieve talking to Jean-Pierre on the telephone. “Yes, it is just a small patch,” she was saying. “You think you can fix them? Oh good. Thank you so much Jean-Pierre. I’ll send them right over.”

Genevieve packed me up in a box lined with fur and velvet. On the way to France, I was turned upside down, spun, and had several sensations of falling. By the time I finally came to a stop I was thoroughly sick.

I felt the top of the box being ripped off and I prepared myself for seeing Jean-Pierre again. A bearded face appeared that was certainly not Jean-Pierre, and the ugly face grinned down at me.

My first thought was, ‘Oh no, what if he destroys my beautiful leather and throws me in a trash bin, disgraced and hopeless.’ The man was ugly and all I wanted was to be back with my beautiful Genevieve.

The man took me out of my box and I cringed to feel his dirty hands on my flesh. He checked the return address on my box, and for a moment I thought the dirty man was going to send me back. Maybe it was all a mistake. That hope was quickly squashed when he threw my lovely trunk in the recycling bin.

The man set me on the table and I caught a glimpse of the note he was writing.

Deer Mis Geneveeve,
I hav yur shoos. If you want um back yur gonnuh gottah gimmee sum muny. If you ain’t gonnuh do that Ill burn them dang ulgy shoos. Gimmee them muny bye soon. Gimme 1000 dolers.


This could not be happening. I just hoped Genevieve would pay. I couldn’t stand the thought of being burned!

I don’t know how long I stayed at the dirty old shack of Joe’s. It seemed like every second was an hour and every day was an eternity. One day though, I heard Joe singing as he brought in the mail. “Dum de dum, looks like you’ll be goin’ home soon you ugly boots. Ho hum dee de dum dum,” Joe hummed.

As he walked past me, Joe dropped a letter on the ground. I saw a note in Genevieve’s neat handwriting.

Dear Joe,

I will pay you 900 dollars but you will not ship my shoes to me. Instead, I shall come to your living quarters in three days. You must give me my shoes first and then I promise I will present you with the 900 dollars but only if my shoes are in the original condition.

Most Sincerely,

Genevieve was coming! Finally! I couldn’t wait to see my beloved Genevieve again.

The next few days were the longest of my life. It felt like every second was a day and I had just given up hope when Joe picked me up. “Come on you purty little boots,” he grunted. Joe took me over to his table and started examining me, presumably because Genevieve would only pay him the nine hundred dollars, if I was in my original condition. My leather prickled every time his filthy skin touched me.

I heard him muttering to himself and I heard some of what he was saying. “shoes….works….try again soon……no shoe be safe…” Did that mean what I thought if meant? If it did, that meant Joe was going to kidnap other extremely valuable and gorgeous shoes like myself. Oh this was bad bad bad. Somehow I had to warn Genevieve. But how? Shoes can’t talk to people, even gorgeous and beautiful shoes like myself. We can only talk to other shoes. Just other shoes, that’s it! Every time I passed another shoe I could tell them about Joe. That way, each shoe could work together and foil Joe’s plans.

Finally, I heard a knocking at the door. “Come on in,” Joe yelled. Genevieve entered and the dirty room seemed to glow. “Hello Joe,” Genevieve said, very nicely it seemed to me. “Let me see my shoes please.”

“Course Miz Genevieve. I’ll get um right now.” Joe came over to me and carefully picked me up and brought me over to Genevieve. She examined me very carefully and said to Joe, “Well everything seems to be in order. We’ll just be leaving then.” When Genevieve and I were almost out of the door, Joe came to his senses and shouted, “Hey, what about the money?” Genevieve just smiled and said, “I’ll mail it to you.” Which of course she never did.

When we were in the limo on the way to the jet, Genevieve put me on. Oh how good it felt to be back on her feet. I was in heaven.

You might be remembering how I was going to stop Joe from kidnapping any more shoes. Well I kept my promise and told every shoe I met about Joe and what he did to me. It was up to them to keep themselves safe.

And so, aside from a few minor incidents with a dog and a vacuum cleaner, I lived happily ever after.

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