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From the Church of the Toasted Coconut Doughnut

a12When I was a teenager in the mid nineties, I wore purple Doc Martens. Often with black and white striped tights ala Samantha Mathis in Pump Up the Volume. I felt invincible in that mix. A perfect hybrid of ignore-me-fringe and deep-artsy-chick-intrigue.

My eight-year-old daughter has a pair of purple boots. Minnetonka Moccassin, suede with fringe. ( She got them from Grandma for Christmas. I don’t buy eight-year-olds boots of that caliber. Just saying.) She loves them, but they are not her magic boots. She says they are for dancing days. She loves the way the fringe jumps when she moves. But they don’t light her up, like when she zips on her black knee-highs with the silver buckle. Those boots, she says are for everything else.

There are days I worry so much for my little bird. It can’t be helped. But sometimes while I worry the hours away…

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