“I Put the Boots Back On and We Went At It”

“Mariah” is a recent college graduate who lives in L.A., but the events she wrote in to tell me about happened last spring in Washington, D.C. Just as a side note, I’d like to point out that D.C. is usually a really bad town for single women. I talked to a gal this summer who was all raving about it because you can pass 100 used bookstores on the walk home from work, or some such thing. I pointed out that, conversely, you can walk all the way from Georgetown to Columbia Heights without passing one decent single man; she said she would choose books over men every time. I berated her in no uncertain terms with having skewed priorities. I was like “girl, if you don’t use it, you gonna lose it.”

This doesn’t seem likely to happen to Mariah, though. She wrote in to tell me about two separate encounters that took place while she was wearing the same jeans/boots combination: Dark-wash Adriano Goldschmied jeans, and brown Ralph Lauren leather riding boots that she got on sale at DSW shoe warehouse (links below). The jeans “have since been retired… I broke the zipper zipping them up in the bathroom of a bar one night and then burst into tears because I thought it meant I was getting fat. When my best friend tried to comfort me I irrationally started yelling at her for becoming anorexically skinny over the summer.” See, now this would never happen to me; I don’t have the body-image issues I did in my youth, and now when I’m out at bars I just go on angry rants about John McCain or the gender politics of bathrooms or something.

Mariah’s first story technically doesn’t count, since it’s about a time when she COULD have gotten laid, but heroically refrained from doing so. She was out with her friend “Max” at McFadden’s Irish pub; they had been flirting since freshman year, but never been single at the same time. That night, they were enjoying some Jagerbombs and he proposed going to his apartment to make out (even though he had a girlfriend). Once they got there, though, she was struck almost simultaneously by pangs of conscience and waves of nausea; she tried to go home, but ended up vomiting in a trash can.

In her words, here’s what happened next: “I am overcome with self-loathing and embarrassment and, rather than leaving, decide I will take a shower in his bathroom to wash away the shame (I am still very, very drunk). I get into the shower sans shirt, but with my bra, jeans and knee-high boots still on. As Max tries to save me from what would probably end in death by shower drowning, I hunker down into a solid, rock-like stance, trying to make myself as heavy as possible so that I can continue to splash around to my heart’s content.

Finally he is able to pick me up and almost gets me out of the shower when I slip (wet boots!) and apparently hit my head on the side of the shower tile. Next thing I know, I wake up in his bed in the morning in a t-shirt and shorts, my clothes in a sopping wet pile beside the bed. Apparently, after hitting my head, I was so out-of-it that he had to help undress me.” If this were an eighteenth-century porno novel, the story would begin rather than end with a man having to undress an unconscious woman; something of the kind happens in Cleland’s Fanny Hill. Instead, “I thank him for not letting me die, he asks me not to tell his girlfriend, and we amicably part ways, happy enough to pretend that the event never occurred.”

You can tell quality goods by their ability to withstand trauma; after their immersion, the boots retained their original shape and luster, and Mariah regained her will to fight again. So “about a month later, I’m out at a divey bar with some friends and co-workers from the BBQ bar/restaurant we all work at. The guy behind the bar (‘Tom’) is a former co-worker, close friend, and one-time hook-up of mine, despite the fact that he is almost twice my age.

Halfway through the night I’m really drunk (Jagerbombs again! I’m so college) {editor’s note: I totally know a 39-year-old man who LOVES Jagerbombs} and grinding up on Tom’s roommate, ‘Greg.’ Tom cuts us both off from alcohol (I didn’t know that was allowed in D.C.) and says, in front of many mutual friends, ‘that he better not come home to find us fucking in his apartment.’ I take major offense to this. Yes, I am rubbing up against Greg’s crotch but how dare Tom suggest I would actually sleep with him! A conflict ensues, which lasts well past last call and all the other patrons have left.” (It was Greg’s apartment too, so you’d think he could fuck whoever he wanted in there, but apparently he slunk away.)

“The only ones still in the small bar, we argue about whether or not I am a slut and decide that the only way to hash this out is to start kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off. After taking off my pants and top, I actually put the boots back on and we go at it on the second floor, on top of a shuffleboard table. I sure showed him I’m not slutty! I woke up the next morning with numerous scrapes on my back from the sand on the shuffleboard table, but with the nice memory of some pretty hot sex.”

As a third-wave feminist, I have hella issues with “slut” (about which more later), and I don’t think women should have to prove their chastity to be respected. However, what if the term “slut” became so evacuated of meaning that nobody remembered what it referred to, and the phrase “proving you’re not a slut” became a fun euphemism for jumping on someone and ripping their clothes off? Like, “I have a date tonight, hopefully I can prove I’m not a slut.” That’s what the feminist utopia will be like.

Lux cardigan (completely unlike the Lux sweater M. described, but I can't find that one anywhere)

Lux cardigan

M. described a completely different Lux sweater, but I can’t find that one anywhere, and I like this one.

Adriano Goldschmied jeans

Adriano Goldschmied jeans

Ralph Lauren boots

Ralph Lauren boots (no longer in stores, it seems)

Another option, not on sale

Another, less thrifty option

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4 Responses to ““I Put the Boots Back On and We Went At It””

  1. I hear what you are saying about TOP_QUALITY items but damn lay off those Jagerbombs!!! LOL! I know exactly what you mean.
    Very enjoyable blog, Thanks!
    🙂 Vonnie

  2. I like how the above comment is both spam and not-spam. If you buy any replica watches from this person, let me know how it goes.

  3. joblessandjaded Says:

    knockin’ boots! P.S. I have to agree about the lack of viable mens in DC.

  4. […] The Clothes That Got Me Laid « “I Put the Boots Back On and We Went At It” […]

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