I happily stood in line – imagining what it might feel like to stand for an hour and a quarter wearing my boots. I chatted with the woman in front of me, who pushed an overflowing cart, telling her how much I was looking forward to wearing my boots that Sunday to church.
At the check-out, I triumphantly watched the cashier bag my boots and hand the receipt to me. I’m sure the grin I wore wrapped around my face twice.
While waiting for my mother to pick me up outside the store, I accidentally let the receipt fly off in the wind.
But I didn’t care.
These boots were MINE and nobody could take them away from me.
— Sarah Einselen
Friday editor / Give me my boots and nobody gets hurt