As I have said many times, there are few things I enjoy more these days than time alone in my hermit hole. I’m usually either writing these blogs for all seven of you to enjoy or receiving security briefings from the neighborhood squirrels who serve as my scouts.
I am a friend and leader to the Animal Kingdom, as you already know. Insects, on the other hand, can go eff themselves. Especially the ones who sting or bite. Jerks!
Still, there are often times when I must emerge from Hodgson Compound, which is situated in a secret corner of a lovely Atlanta neighborhood. Examples include when I need to drop off or pick up my drycleaning, when I need to run or ride bikes, or when I travel to Africa to summit Kilimanjaro.
At these times, it is necessary to select a shoe in which to put my feet. I have many to choose from.
I keep a rotating stock of running shoes because the people who manufacture running shoes have assured everyone that this is prudent and proper. It’s not enough to own one pair. Nay, the wise runner must have a half dozen or more that he rotates with each workout so that one pair doesn’t get over-worn. A pair is said to last about three to six months, but I stretch them much longer because I haven’t really noticed a difference if I don’t. Except, of course, for the money I still have.
It goes without saying that as a member of a dying breed of real men I also own a pair of cowboy boots. These not only look good, but are excellent for ass-kickin’.
As an intrepid explorer I have a pair of hiking boots, along with several pairs of dress shoes in black and in brown. And then there’s my many pairs of casual shoes.
Having an excellent and extensive choice of dress, casual, and ass-kickin’ footwear is very manly. In fact, I was complemented more than once this weekend on my shoes, and on more than one pair. I’ve heard it said that if you want to know if a man is well dressed, look down.
That’s unless he’s kicking your ass, of course, in which case you may want to also keep an eye on what his fists are up to. They could very well be headed for your eye area, or urging a legion of trained attack monkeys forward.
I at first assumed that old saying meant that if his pants are not properly fastened, or indeed missing altogether, then he hasn’t finished dressing. I have come to realize that whoever coined this phrase was referring to shoes, and I have taken it to heart, or to foot in this case. I’ve taken it to the heart of my feat.