I've still got it.

I strolled into a shoe store today in search of a nice pair of sensible, Gore-Tex lined hiking boots. I didn't find any I liked, but I did spy a killer pair of tall black Docs.

During my first semester in college I spent most of my book money on a pair of twenty eye Docs. I still have them, despite the fact that either my feet have grown a size larger in ten years, or I simply like more room for my toes to wiggle now. The boots no longer fit, but I am too attached to the good times I've had wearing them to donate them to the Salvation Army. They now spend their nights not in a smoky club, but gathering dust at the bottom of my closet.

The boots in the store weren't twenty eye, maybe more like fifteen. They reached mid-calf. I tried on the six but they were a bit snug. The seven was too roomy. I really didn't need a pair of black lace ups, but I tried them on and pranced around anyway. I told the shoe store clerk that the six was too small and the seven was too big.

"How can that be?" he asked, perplexed. I replied that I needed a 6 1/2, but the boots come in whole sizes only. I mentioned that I had a pair of taller boots a long time ago that I no longer fit into.

He was surprised and said, "How long ago did you have them?"

"Ten years ago."

"Are your feet still growing?" he asked in disbelief.

"No, i don't think so. I'm 28."

"You're 28? I thought you were 15!"

I laughed. It's always funny to me to get this kind of compliment, since I'm getting on in age and people don't mistake me for a kid as often as they used to. Sure, you could say he was flirting, I readily admit he was. And I'm sure he wanted the commission a $125 pair of boots would bring in. But it's still nice to know I've got it, especially when I tell you my other black boot story.

Sharon, who I used to sit next to at work until I got my own cubicle, came back from lunch one day with a large box in a shoe store bag. Nosy person that I am, I demanded to know "What's in the bag?" She pulled out a slick pair of tall, black zip up boots, which were even more appealing to me since they had no heel. I never wear heels, unless I'm going to a wedding. I'm all about comfort. She told me where she got them and a few days later I sauntered in to the store and picked out 3 pairs of boots to try on. To my utter embarrassment, I couldn't zip any of them over my calf. Not one! The store clerk actually forced up the zipper on the last pair until my the top of my calf bulged out of the top of the boot like a sausage tied in a knot. I politely asked him for a larger size, because the foot part was tighter than I like.

He looked critically at my leg and said, "That is your size. You just can't wear this type of boot. You have fat calves."

I blinked and struggled to unzip the zipper before I lost all feeling in my lower leg. I thanked the guy (I thanked him!) and practically ran out of the store. He said I have fat calves. Fat. Calves. Did he think that was the appropriate way to talk to a customer? A female customer no less. How is a remark like that going to earn him a commission? I vowed never to set foot in that insulting store again.

It wasn't until I told the story a few times that I realized how absurd the whole thing was. Fat calves. Fat chance, bub!