I sneezed loudly, trumpeting like an elephant in heat and out popped a pair of knee length seal skin boots. The kamiks were soft and luxurious to the touch and before I could even venture to try them on, the muse stuck her head out of my left ear and said:
“Don’t you dare try them on and they are most certainly not junk dear.”
I turned the boots over and realised to my dismay that they were a size 8 and my feet were a size 6. Unlike the ugly stepsisters even chopping off one of my toes was unlikely to help, instead I would have to stretch my feet in a torture device which would make them larger but also skinnier and quite boneless. I much prefer feet to flippers thank you very much. To demonstrate that they were hers she yanked and pulled at them until they were on and the zippers up. Her upper thighs rolled in waves from the top and were threatening to spill over the edges; nevertheless she paraded them in front of me like a model on the catwalk.
“Miaau,” she said, “they make me feel like a tigress.” Hmm sealskin boots turns muses into tigresses; please do notate that in all the science journals.
“Sarcasm, hmf, these boots were made for walking all over you” she said and sauntered off in her high heeled kamiks leaving me wondering why they had appeared at all as the Raggedy Andy chimney sweep was only supposed to get rid of the junk, not the boots. Did I sense rivalry amongst the female characters in my mind?
Nancy Sinatra and these boots are made for walking.