Lucky Boots

I woke up this morning to pouring down rain. It's a good thing, since apparently Georgia and Alabama are about to come to blows over the draught conditions, and who gets how much water from our shared reservoirs. It hasn't really affected us too much yet, other than not being allowed to water your lawn at all, but I guess Atlanta and Birmingham and other large cities are having a water shortage. Anyway, because it was raining cats and dogs, I decided to forego my trademark Birkenstocks and opted instead for my favorite pair of black boots.

I've had these boots for several years, and they have been through a lot. They are Italian-made black leather (thank you Uncle Sam!), they come up to about mid-calf level, they have about a 2 inch heel, and they were a birthday present from my hubby. They've got some scarring, and at one point I had considered throwing them out and getting a new pair, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. For one thing, I absolutely love these boots. For another, they helped me to diffuse what could have been an ugly situation. Well, uglier, anyway.

Almost exactly 4 years ago, I was mugged. We were living in Germany at the time, Chris was away at a combat training school about 4 hours away, it was a Friday evening, and I was at a community level FRG planning meeting. I had to dress up somewhat, so I was wearing a black skirt and my awesome boots. After the meeting I decided to go off-post and rent a couple of movies at this little American video store we all went to all the time. They had exactly 2 parking spots, so usually you had to park around the back of the store and cut in between two buildings to get to the front door. No big deal, I did it all the time. So I rent my movies and as I'm leaving the store and rounding the corner of the building to get back to my car, I suddenly find myself slammed up against a concrete wall. There's a guy in dark clothing with a hat pulled down low over his face, he's got one hand pressed against my chest, and he starts going for my purse with the other hand. BTW - my purse was a black one that I had bought at Harrod's in London, it was expensive, and not exactly easily replaceable. At that point I literally stopped thinking. I lashed out with my 2 inch heels and landed several really nice kicks to the guy's groin, stomach, and kneecaps. I knew there was a reason I took all those kick-boxing classes at the gym! He stumbled back and doubled over a bit, said something I didn't understand in what I think was probably Turkish or Czech, then made one last grab for my purse. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have done that because as he leaned forward, I gathered everything in me and broke his face with my arm. Literally, I heard the crack of what I'm assuming was a jawbone.

After that, he ran off. Empty-handed, I might add. I guess getting the crap kicked out of him by a little American woman wasn't part of his nightly plans. I just stood there for a second trying to figure out what the heck just happened. Did I really do that? I decided I needed to go home. Once I got there, there was a message from Chris on my answering machine, saying that he was taking the train home for the weekend, and could I please pick him up at the train station at about 11? I called him on his cell-phone and told him that I really didn't want to go to a darkened train station by myself in the middle of the night, on account of the fact that I just got attacked in an alley.

There was complete silence for about 30 seconds. Then Chris freaked out. "WHAT??? Are you okay? Did he hurt you? What happened?"

"I'm fine, he didn't get anything, and he didn't hurt me. My arm kind of hurts, though."

"Why? What did he do to your arm?"

"Oh he didn't do anything, but I think I broke his jawbone when I hit him."

"You HIT him? Are you crazy? Why didn't you just run?"

"Oh, well I was too busy kicking the crap out of him to run, besides, he kept trying to take my purse, and I really like that purse."

"Are you trying to tell me that you beat him up?"

"Uh, well, yeah."

At this point, I'm sure he was just shaking his head. "What did the MP's say?"

"Oh, I didn't call them."

He sighed, then convinced me to go to the MP station and file a report. Since the MP station was right around the corner from my house, it only took me about 5 minutes to get there. When I walked in, the Sergeant at the desk is on the phone, and he looks up at me and says into the phone, "Yeah, Sergeant, I think she just walked in. Is your wife a little blonde woman? Okay, we'll take care of her." I'm totally rolling my eyes, "He called you?"

He explained that Chris wanted to make sure I came in, and if I hadn't been there in 10 minutes, they were going to come to my house and get me. Men.... So anyway, I sit down to give my statement, and about halfway through, the reality of my situation hit me, my brain finished processing everything that had happened, and I started shaking. I broke out in a cold sweat and thought I was going to vomit. The poor MP that was taking my statement didn't quite know what to do. I calmed down after a bit, and they called in the medic to look at my arm. It wasn't broken, just badly bruised internally, and he wrapped it up for me.

As I was getting ready to go home, the MP told me he was impressed that I had managed to fight him off, but next time, just drop the purse and run away. Or scream like hell. He told me I was lucky the guy didn't have a weapon, and those boots I was wearing probably saved me from being seriously hurt.

So, long story short - I'm going to keep wearing these boots until they literally disintegrate off my feet. They are my lucky boots!