Or, Option C: I'm hotter than even I realized.

Running from one job to the other on Friday, I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for anything that would get me through the rest of my 15-hour day. I walked in wearing a grey fleece, jeans and my black leather boots. Now, these boots are the kind with a pointy toe and a tall, thin heel that have been called my-- uh-- "make love to me" boots (kids, never mind what that means. And kids, why are you reading this blog? I'm sometime embarrassed to have SJ's mom reading my stuff, let alone small children!)

Anyway, the boots are pretty awesome and were also pretty much covered up by my jeans (and did I mentioned I was wearing a drab, gray fleece?) So, I'm standing at the counter and I hear a man say, "Those are nice boots." I turn around and find a guy in a fraying sweatshirt and baggy jeans with a big gut and his 10-year-old son standing next to him. Seeing as how his son was there, I simply answered, "Thank you" and turned back around.

But, seriously, what was that about? I think we have a couple of options here. Option A: This guy, despite his complete lack of fashion sense in his own wardrobe, is a connoisseur of women's fashion and truly appreciated my choice of footwear for the day. Option B: Despite the presence of his 10-year-old son and the fact that there was nothing else appealing about what I was wearing, he was drawn in by my fantastic-- uh-- "make love to me" boots and couldn't resist commenting on them. Either way, it was creepy (not that I would stop wearing the boots or anything, but still, it was creepy.)