Recession Mantra: Frye Boots

I do not need you. Sure, you're gorgeous and subtle and classic and fabulous and amazing and would probably go with more than half my wardrobe and are Frye boots that I've been drooling over since college. But you are so expensive. Not Chanel or Prada or Gucci expensive, but still... You cost a pretty penny, Frye boots of my dreams. And we are in a recession now. And, let's be honest, even pre-recession you were not exactly a reality. And I do not need you. It feels like I do, but you are not sustenance nor shelter nor water nor oxygen nor Trader Joe's... And I am not currently void of any other footwear, or taking up horseback riding, or going on a safari or inflicted with a shin condition requiring some kind of Frye-leather-contact therapy. You are simply excessive. A luxury. A golden soap dish on the Titanic. A fur coat in the Bahamas. I do not need you.

Yes, I spied a pair of your relatives on a co-parishioner and knew immediately that they too were Frye and was reminded again of how perfect you would look in my wardrobe, from casual weekend wear to church dress to work attire... And yes, I felt a longing in my heart as I watched you function elegantly amongst the pews. But then I reminded myself that we do not go to church to covet other people's boots (or footwear of any kind,) or cars or clothes or hair or babies or anything, ever. (Except maybe handbags. Because those hold scriptures, after all.)

And though I pine for you from afar and have no fewer than 673 justifications of why you would certainly be able to do everything from rescuing me from fashion peril, to possibly curing disease, I really do not need you. Sure, you were high on ye olde list of "I can't wait until I graduate and get a Real Job and..." things; one I thought I would easily be able to attain with A Real Paycheck. But here we are, out in the Real World lo these many years and yet you remain elusive, Frye boots. Your $400 price tag has simply never made you practical in my Grown Up World, and that was before salary cuts and layoffs and all the other scariness of today's Really Scary Grown Up World. But I think I love you and you love me and we're supposed to be together. But still, I do not need you. I've lived this long without your kind enveloping my legs in legendary leather quality and... magic.

So, I beg you, cease your call to me-- that gorgeous, hypnotic siren song of your exquisite soles being clip-clop-walked across a polished floor somewhere in my dreams, and more literally from Zappos.com, on sale! with free! shipping! and an amazingly non-threatening return policy. For I do not need you. I do not need you. I. do. not. need. you.
Right?