Boots

Remember this story? Now I have to call all cobblers "shoe jews." Then Grace gets made at me. Even though she started it.

Anyway, I took my boots to the shoe jew around the corner, because they were too wide in the calf, and I was pretty sure he was going to tell me "I can't change the width of the calves of a pair of leather boots are you effing crazy?" but instead he just said "fifty dollars" to which I tartly (no, not tartly... piteously) replied "forty" and he said "forty-five." The next day he called because they were ready already, and I raced over and they had been transformed. I put them on and paid and immediately ran home to see what they looked like, except not home because I don't have a full-length mirror, but to the mirrored panel on the side of the sex shop next door. Perfect.