Boots and Broccoli

 

 

These are my winter boots. I have been wearing them most days as I battle the snow invading my driveway and the sidewalk around my house. The boots are warm, water and snow proof, and comfortable. I have been wearing them most days because of the unrelenting snow. Another feature the boots contain is embedded in the soles of the boots. As you can see in the second picture, the soles are replete with small cleats that are intended to make the boots stable despite use in snow, mud, and whatever other miseries that Mother Nature throws at us.

Sometimes the cleats throw an unexpected curve ball at me and that’s the subject of this blog. To understand my surprise with the boots, I have to take you indoors where you can sneak a look at my dinner habits. Although my roommate doesn’t approve, I often wear my boots indoors and they often show up on my feet when I sit down for dinner. Another of my dinner habits involve my carelessness with food. For some unknown reason, an inordinate amount of my dinner escapes my fork and spoon and ends up on the floor surrounding my regular spot at the dinner table. It only seems to happen to me.

My lovely bride and occasional dinner guests don’t seem to have the problem of loose food. My after- dinner clean-up reveals that the only spot at the table with bits of food on the floor, is mine. I don’t know why it happens, but various dribbles of food, mostly vegetables, seem unusually determined to escape being eaten. It appears I am unable to shovel food into my mouth without a few pieces escaping the confines on my fork or spoon while making the trip from plate to mouth. Often, it occurs without me knowing.

Last night it happened again, only this time I saw the uncooperative chunk of broccoli come loose from my over-burdened spoon while my spoon was about half-way to my mouth. It missed the plate, landed on the edge of table, and then dropped to my lap before bouncing one final time to the floor. I saw the whole thing as if it were in slow motion. Naturally, I lifted my gaze to see if my ever-vigilant wife witnessed the faux pau. Thankfully, she was concentrating on her dinner and failed to notice the errant broccoli. I quickly decided there was no reason to announce my mistake with the broccoli. I kept my eyes averted and plunged my spoon into another bite of food. The next spoon excursion was successful, giving me the chance make a subtle glance at the floor without revealing the reason. Sure enough, there was the piece of broccoli on the floor, midway between my boots and the sturdy oak table leg. I decided that the remedy for my mistake was to wait until dinner was finished allowing me the opportunity to pick up the soft green chunk of broccoli, deposit it on my plate while I helped clear the table, or, as my Indiana mother used to say, I would help “red (clear) up the table.”

My plan failed. As I stood and pushed my chair back, I made a quick glance at the floor. There was no broccoli there. It was missing. Of course, I couldn’t announce the mystery as I casually took a second look while I retrieved my dinner plate and utensils then crept toward the kitchen sink while surreptitiously glancing at the floor for a third time. Again, no broccoli or anything else was there except for the small green stain that was not worth mentioning.

The rest of my evening was uneventful. Even the TV had nothing of importance other than our new President revealing his inability to govern. Oh, I forgot to mention I saw another one of those green stains near the wood stove that I was monitoring that evening.

I kept my boots on until I got sleepy and it was time to get ready for bed. The boots came off easily enough and I went barefooted to the bench below which I store my boots. Then something strange became apparent: the green stain on the floor was following me. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but the green stain was following my footprints from the kitchen to my easy chair. I turned over the right-hand boot that was in my hand. The terribly smeared and nearly indistinguishable broccoli was wedged between the topmost cleats on the bottom of the boot. My estimation of the formerly beloved boots dropped several points, and I vowed not to eat broccoli while wearing boots.