It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.
Robert W. Service
Next week, I will be lobstering. There will be no post....
Sure I will have plenty of time, an average of 14 hours a day of nothing to do but think. I'm sure I could dream up many posts.
But seeing as my hands will be occupied banding thousands of lobsters, I will not have the time, nor the co-ordination to type them up.
Don't set your hearts on a post lobstering week wrap up either.
Banding is kind of like childbirth. You feel a little acid-refluxy nervous anticipation for it. You get through it. You enjoy the rewards after. Then you forget every detail so as to be able to someday go through it all again.
It's indescribable anyway.
In fact I tried to describe it this weekend to a sales man, and I'm pretty sure he thinks he was being punked.
He's probably still checking for hidden cameras in the display racks.
Last year my boots disintegrated off my feet on the second day.
So I had to spend the remaining 5 days in second rate non-insulated rubber boots.
Not only was I sad to no longer own a pair of size 13 hand-me down "Lego-Boots" but my feet were also cold.
So this year, I decided to sacrifice a day's pay to purchase my very own pair of good lobstering quality boots.
No more digging in the basement for a pair of matching rubber boots my father no longer wants...I am a grown up, I will buy my own pair.
I wanted a fancy comfy pair like my boyfriend has for work. No dice, they are $250+ and have to be ordered online.
So he takes me to Atlantic Workwear. The window display is camo gear, and orange stuff you see construction workers wear.
Inside there is a sign, promoting a percentage off hunting boots, big oil gear, safety hats, and black steel-toed police boots.
I fit right in in my leggings, 80's inspired t-shirt dress, and fur lined boots with decorative buckles.
Maybe that's why I didn't get waited on right away.
I pick out a big pair of clunky boots and flag down a store clerk.
When I ask to try some on he tells me they don't come in womens sizes.
He is obviously very flustered by the fact that he is waiting on the 150-pound-woman-with make-up-on, and not the 230-pound-man-with-arms-the-size-of-a-dumptrucks that he assumed would be buying something.
He quickly goes back to find the smallest pair that he has. I try on the men's size 9 I took off display.
It's too small.
Not in the normal sense, of my toes a scrunched up and I can't get my heel in. But in Lobsterbander terms, size 9 is a bit snug for me.
The look on his face was priceless when he comes back out with the 7 and I tell him no way.
I then start to explain to him why I need boots in the first place.
I say it will be cold... he helpfully informs me that they are insulated boots.
I re-explain cold as "Ill be standing still fro 12 hours on a boat, I need to fit three pairs of wool socks on"
He shows me the girlie rubber boots he still thinks I am looking for, something light weight and you can fit the fancy liners in side.
These are in fact the exact type of boots that I wore for five days last season, which brought me to the conclusion that it was worth it to spend more money on my very own pair of boots.
There is something about "12 hours of cold" that this man is not understanding.
As I explain to him that I need to be able to wiggle my toes inside my boots, mainly to keep warm, but also as a form entertainment between sets. (Wiggling your toes is as close to dancing as your body can pull off during the first week.)
When I tell him that I usually wear size 13, he starts looking at my boyfriend for some sign that I'm an escaped lunatic who just needs to be corralled into a corner so they can straight-jacket me and put me back in my cell.
I finally convince him to let me buy the size nines. (I asked for size tens and he said he didn't have any... I think he was lying, but I didn't bother to call him on it.)
I then drop the final bomb on him and tell him it doesn't matter since I'll only be wearing them for a week anyway.
I realize now that I failed to mention that I would be wearing them for one week out of the year, not one week my entire life.
I will continue to wear them after that, but most likely all they will be really useful for, is that one week. These boots should last me the rest of my life, one week at a time
I would have tried to clear that up, but he actually gave me a discount. It may have been because he felt sorry for me.
Or it may have been he was afraid I would freak out at the price and he would have to go through the whole "choosing a pair" process with me again.
In the end I have a brand new pair of Arctic, green, cushiony, insulated rubber boots. And I'm getting used to the fact that you can't fit a Ford Explorer in the space between my actual toe and the end of the boot.
You can probably still fit a good mid-size family sedan though, so I'm happy.
And as I brag about my new boots to anyone who will listen (or read), I realize that an expensive pair of new shoes makes me excited, no matter what they look like :)
3 years ago