Just kidding. Anybody who knows me is aware that I don’t own a pair of boots. There are certain Southern stereotypes I’m just not willing to play into.
But the truth is that I’m a heavy walker. (When I say that out loud, it always sounds very Seinfeldian to me. Wasn’t there an episode about a low talker?) When I walk, things literally shake in my wake. Knick-knacks are always toppling to the ground when I breeze by if they’re not pushed back far enough on the shelf. People have been known to refer to my entrances as sounding like a herd of elephants.
I don’t know why I’m a heavy walker; I just always have been. You’d think I’d be a little lighter on my feet since I’m so short, but it’s as if I make up for my lack of height with my astounding mass. I try to walk quietly, but I can’t do it. The only time I can walk without announcing my impending arrival 20 steps beforehand is when I shuffle in socks. Thank goodness I don’t have to wear heels on the concrete floor of a classroom anymore, I suppose.