The great boot blowout of '09

I love shoes. You know it, I know it, there is no sense denying it.

I have a rather large shoe collection (okay, it is ridiculous, but I've had some of those shoes since I was a freshman in high school, so I'm not apologizing) and I will admit that there are days when I go into my closet and see a pair I'd forgotten even owning. It's like Christmas!

And there are times when I have made sacrifices in other areas of my life to buy the perfect shoe. I'll eat grilled cheese for a week if it means I can get the perfect pair of pumps for a special event or purchase those to-die-for boots on sale at DSW. (I am aware that this makes me a cliche, but I balance my overwhelming chick-ness with the knowledge that I can chop firewood and roof a house. So suck it.)

When I was working at a restaurant in early college, I once spent an entire paycheck on the most beautiful pair of black knee-high full-zip Doc Martens boots. I was 19, living with my mom and paying for college with a minuscule paycheck and scholarships, but those boots called to me. They were sublime.

I still own them, but something tragic happened last week. Since I've gotten pregnant, none of my clothes fit. I mean nothing. It's not that I'm showing, it's that I've gone from a 34C to a 36DD in four weeks. For the menfolk, this might sound like a good thing. Heck, for the less-endowed ladies out there, this might seem like a dream come true. But, if you've spent your entire life wearing size medium shirts, this is a living hell. I went shopping with a girlfriend one Saturday and before I could leave the house, I spent two hours trying on every shirt in my closet. I only found one that fit. Barely. I looked like Jayne Mansfield in it, which is not a comfortable look for me. I don't like to look like a pair of boobs strapped to a piece of plywood, covered by a sweater. Not my thing. Not to mention the havoc this has wreaked on my underwear drawer.

The worst thing, though, is that I seem to have put on weight in my calves. After weeks of feeling dowdy and lumpy, I finally found a cute outfit in my closet last week - a mini, the largest sweater I own, tights and my Docs. This worked until, as I was pulling up the zipper on my boots, I BLEW IT OUT. That's right, I blew the zipper on my boots clean out, leading to many tears and recriminations. Perhaps I shouldn't have been using a pair of pliers to pull the zipper up (sometimes I can't take a hint), but it was still the saddest moment of my sartorial life. I know I can get them fixed and I know I will, but I still won't be able to wear them while I'm expecting. Which makes me sadder than all of it. (They are flat-soled. The only other black boots I have are stilettos. You can do the math on that.)

This morning, it happened again. I've broken down and bought some "roomier" clothes, but it seems my calves are out to defeat me. The first pair of boots I put on this morning - sweet, kitten-heeled brown ones - wouldn't zip. I had to resort to four-inch black stiletto boots to get any sort of outfit to work. Which wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I'm grocery shopping today, for Pete's sake.

So it seems I have a few options. I can wrap my calves in saran wrap and hope they sweat into a smaller size, or I can go buy those "plus-size" boots that have room for my newly enormous lower legs.

Keep your fingers crossed for the saran wrap.