07 Feb 2008 › 11:00am
Nothing makes me angrier than a cheerful pair of whimsically decorated Wellies worn by an adult woman. There is something very infuriating about a grownup sporting a pair of pink rubber boots covered with daisies, ducks, hearts or the like. It makes me want to kick said lady in the shins and say, “Toughen up already, there’s nothing cute about this world, chickadee.” Is that wrong?
I’m sure everyone has at least one item of clothing that inspires irrational hatred within them (please tell me I’m not the lone bitch here!?). Some detest clogs (both crock and non), some abhor Birkenstocks (even the “high fashion” metallic version trotted out by the nice folks over at Kors), and some hate all variety of man sandal… Ok, so those examples were all footwear, whatever.
What’s interesting (ok disturbing) about my Welli-mosity is the ferociousness of the feelings. Each time another Welli-woman skips past in her pink, shiny-glorious splendor, I pray that her perky little tootsies, marinating in their pastel-sweatbox-gulag-of-a-boot contract a vicious case of athlete’s foot.
Fine. OK… I’ll bring it up in therapy. Geez.
