My Wellingtons · 7 June 2001
The first time I wore them I was striding across a beach near Tofino in winter: cocksure, brash, breathing nature through flared nostrils.
Just as I realized my new boots were blistering the fuck out of my heel, I turned to see a flock of sandpipers take flight – such majesty! – when a wave came in with enough force to a) flood my Wellingtons, b) ruin my last pair of dry wool socks, and c) bring the then-girlfriend watching from the cabin porch to convulsive laughter that continued for nine straight minutes.
I thought this rather mean-spirited at the time.
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