Boots

This morning I learned a valuable lesson.
When we go off anywhere, the cats go in to prison (a pretty luxurious feline-exclusive boarding cattery). They have Learned The Signs, no matter how devious I am - this task nearly always falls to me. When they were younger, they used to fly around in all directions, capture by rugby tackle wss not unknown, but now they have reached years of maturity, they go to ground, make themselves as small and silent as possible. This has its disadvantages too, of course. If "ground" is under the bed, it necessitates me at full length and full stretch and a lot of undignified dragging and language on both parts. That didn't happen this morning, fortunately.
This is all a digression, to explain why I was a little on edge and trying to get things done quickly and unobtrusively.
I have this great pair of - well, I think of them as "jodhpur boots", hangover from some of my reading as an impressionable che-ild. (Oh, Pullein-Thomson sisters, where are you now?) Elastic sided ankle boots, anyway. These were the last thing to go on before the final approach. Suddenly, my mood down-shifted, anxiety intensified, physical state moved from ok to h'mm...WTF?? It wasn't until I had got as far as rounding up cat box and basket, blankets and so on, that I realised. I had pushed the boots on to the wrong feet.
So, this sounds silly, but it was an amazing revelation to me, that something so simple could turn the world around on its axis. From now on, I will carefully check for objects all awry before deciding that I am stressed out of my skull. The scope is endless - bra underwires, they could be responsible for a lot. Loads of other stuff. I may just have a whole new modus vivendi here!

gw