Zakk has a little write-up about boots and bikes in Copenhagen today. Specifically, these boots, with the fuzzy, furry top always remind me of a little incident a few years back at a Steak ‘n Shake in St. Louis.
Darrick and I sauntered in, probably around midnight, to partake of coffee and pie and chili 5-way in our regular late night (and early morning) hang out. We were regulars, as were most of the other late night clientele. We passed the first booth heading into the smoking section and I heard her ask, “Hey, Scott. How do you like my boobs?” WTF? I turned and met them, jiggling and round and full behind a not-really-there, low cut blouse. “Um…ah…” I tried to speak but my mouth was already open, my chin closer to the deck than is socially acceptable. This lovely young lady (more a girl than woman) had invited me to gaze upon her very ample bossom. Tom Petty’s “Don’t Do Me Like That” raced through my head. I looked around for the four horsemen.
“BOOTS!” Darrick was behind me trying to not laugh. “How do you like her BOOTS?”
Wha? And there it was. One foot was stuck out from under the booth, waving frantically trying to get my attention. They were the kind with the fuzzy, furry top that ended in a leg which, in turn, seemed to go on forever before disappearing behind the world’s shortiest skirt. “Um, yeah, they’re nice.” But I was really answering the imagined question. What guy wouldn’t.
I sat down quickly with my back to her, trying to hide my new, very red complexion. Darrick didn’t mind. He got to spend the rest of the night looking at her boobs.