Body Like a Boot

I wiped them down with mink oil just now, thinking I'd stroll this entry.
The boots smell of the mink oil. For the first time in my life I learned to apply it--rub the oil on, in circles. Speed up or slow down according to the Mozart on CBC.
You'll have to put them down to type boots beside the rags beside the sugar bag my sister gave me.
My standard for minking my boots had been with a brush, a second brush to polish. Simply not what mink oil needs.
It needs a hand, either one, preferably both. The second hand follows along inside the boot as you rub your circles into the leather.
I pretended to get into an argument with Suzette Mayr one time in Banff about which boots are the genuine Aussie number--the Blundstones, like mine, or whatever knock-off she wore. Suzette argued back. I happened to knowthe waitress was Aus. We called her over (or maybe I did by myself, but Suzette agreed). Which boots are the real ones, we asked. She picked mine.
Maybe pride ends this entry. It was all a laugh, the thing with Suzette. Too bad about her boots, though.