"The Marquis de Sade don't have no boots like these"
Today was my last day of freedom - apart from having to keep to my second appointment with the company psychologist, I could pretty much decide for myself as to how I would spend it. As of tomorrow, I will no longer have that luxury, seeing as how I'll be returning to work 8 hours a day. And so I decided to indulge in a bit of shopping -- for boots. This rotten ankle's kept me from my favourite pastime for long enough, and besides, it's the sales. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any to make my heart skip a beat in the racks of marked down footwear in Utrecht's shoe shops; so I turned my back on those and let my covetous eye lead me where it wanted. I had almost decided in favour of a classic Italian riding boot in deep polished red leather when I suddenly perceived out of the corner of my eye something with a faint bluish sheen, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a pair of black, silver-brushed, muted Western style boots (when I say 'Western', it mostly refers to the decoration along the top: the pointy toes are far more elegant and so is the 2 1/2 inch heel). They're sitting here beside me now, and I can't wait to show them off to all my friends and relations, but I'm going to have to be patient a little while longer; my injured ankle isn't up to a 2 1/2 inch heel yet.
For my next appointment with the pychologist, I will need to write myself a brand new CV. I'm actually quite looking forward to doing this, and hope that when we go over it first thing in the New Year, she'll give me good feedback.