These boots were made for.....Peace

I'm just a hippie. I wear flipflops and combat boots. Converse sneakers without laces. I go barefoot. But I broke my foot. And whether that's a haunting or the butterfly effect, I'll never know. But I know this. Every now and then I fall. Just call me Grace.

So I have a secret weapon. Little stilts that hold me up. Prop me up like the plastic ballerina in the mahogany stained box. A brace. But by damned, I'm gonna hide it. So on Friday when the band went Country, I hauled my hippie buns to the Country and Western Store and fetched home a pair of cowboy boots. I can't wear combat boots every Friday night. And Skinny smiled.

"Scratch 'em on the concrete" she said, not wanting me to slide. "You can wear 'em with anything" she said, knowing that I would. And I did. We danced til dawn and I woke up to them abandoned on the porch. Toes scuffed, and heels already lazy. They did me good.

"We're just goin' for burgers and a beer" he said and I climbed right in. Saturdays are like that. I didn't wear my armor.... And never saw her coming....

She snuggled right in behind me, beside me, a Marilyn Monroe wanna~be, plopped up on the picnic table to my right. I turned. "Who in the hell is snugglin' up to my show?" And there she was. Bullet Bra. Smiling... A toothy sort of "I'm gonna getcha" grin....and then she wriggled with glee. The only woman whose ever threatened to whoop my fanny.

I almost shook.

Payback is hell....

And I've been there

so

I smiled back. Stretched my fingers. Made a fist. And before she ever saw it coming,

I bopped her good.

Two fingers to the sky.

"Peace"

"You shoulda worn your cowboy boots" Skinny whispered in my ear....