In Which It is Too Early to Write Coherently

Dear Readers,

I am writing to you bright and early this morning because I was woken by a startling realization: my fashion sense is going down a scary route called Country Farmer. Okay, yes, the heat in my dorm coming on at 6:45 am with a horrendously loud clanking has something to do with my early wake-up. And okay, yes, my burnt fingers are throbbing a bit as I type this (Why must I always investigate possible heat through touch?), but the literal wake up call that my styling sensibilities lean toward the Old MacDonald end of things makes for a much more dramatic story. So let's go with that.

Anyway, if you're a longtime reader, you know me to a certain extent. I was already halfway there. I live in plaid flannel and jeans. My hair is perpetually messy. I have a soft spot for motorcycle and/or combat boots. But oh, it gets worse.

Those shoes I was lusting after the other day? It didn't take long to realize that I didn't really want winter wedges. Inconvenient for walking across campus, and - let's face it - I tend to wobble a bit on anything taller than about an inch. What I really wanted was another pair of lace-up boots. Brown ones. Ones that didn't come up as high as my combat boots. Ones that were a bit more rugged. Ones like these:

I ordered them last night. And I'm excited about them. Real live work boots made by a company best known for selling "hand-crafted, authentic cowboy boots since 1879." Oh, the shame! But you have to admit, the details on the front are pretty damn cute. Can't you just imagine them with black tights, thick socks, and plaid flannel?

See? Farmer, farmer, farmer!

Please don't shun me.