In Which I Accidentally Take Up Stalking on Account of a Pair of Awesome Boots

On Friday and Saturday I attended the LDStorymaker's Conference.  In one of the addresses, the speaker said something about how to make contacts that sounded suspiciously like stalking.  We had a good laugh about it at our table, but none of us took the stalking idea seriously.

Not until I accidentally became a stalker.  All with the best of intentions.

My friend, Chersti Nieveen, should have known better than to leave me to my own devices, even for just a few minutes.  But there I was, alone and hovering the hallways, when I saw them:  The Boots of Awesomeness.

Since I'm trying to be more positive in life and compliment things I see that I appreciate, I informed the owner that his boots were awesome.  Really, really cool. 

(As a random side note, the owner of the boots, Howard Tayler, was on a panel a couple years ago where they were discussing dialogue.  He mentioned, in a lovely Scottish accent, that Scotsmen wouldn't use the word "perambulate."  And now I can't think of that word without it being in a Scottish accent.)

But back to the boots.  Since I was the first person to comment on The Boots of Awesomeness, he showed me the rest of them.  They had an articulated shaft with individual buckles on each shaft.

I stared, awestruck almost to the point of speechlessness.  You see, I have a bit of a shoe fetish.  You'd never notice it since I don't actually OWN cool shoes, but I always pay attention to them.  (For example, I could tell you what all the girls in my class were wearing yesterday, but I won't submit you to that...)

He even told me where to purchase Boots of Awesomeness, but I foolishly forgot to write it down.  Sigh...

Anyway, I was so impressed with the boots that I made Chersti (once she returned from leaving me alone so I could accost men and be shown their boots) go ask to see the boots.  He showed them to her, but gave us really strange looks.

And that's when I first realized that I was turning into a stalker and fled the building before I noticed anyone else's footwear.  Chersti and I stood together talking next to my car for a few minutes while the parking garage.  While we were there, who should go to his car that happened to be parked next to mine?  And not just once, but twice?  I believe it was the second time that I started joking about stalking him.  It was that or put a bag over my head and who knows what sort of trouble that would have gotten me into.  

Also, there may or may not have been pictures taken of us by his car to commemorate our advent into stalking, but if that actually happened, it should properly be blamed on the fumes in the parking garage.  Or maybe my migraine.  Or just plain exhaustion.  Or all of the above.  

In any case, Howard, should you ever read this, I apologize.  I am not really a stalker--I just really like your boots.