blogger profile

Margaret Pilarski

editorial assistant

i'm a feminist, and if you're reading this then you are too, you just might not know it yet. i like to eat cheese and travel, but i'm usually broke and/or spending my money on shoes and cocktail rings. i love dogs, rain, and driving offensively (and putting the last comma in a listed series). i'm se...

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pain prescription: boots

thanks to a charming colony of fire ants and my undying volunteer spirit – i have been living with the scars of a vicious attack for five days now with only my boots to save me.

the backstory:

on saturday night, after wrapping up a fundraising party for a local politician, i was traipsing around in the rainy grass and gale force winds and suddenly felt a burning itch on my foot. i scratched. i ignored. i kept breaking down tables and carrying them to the event planners’ trucks. i noticed a staffer friend scratching feverishly and tearing off his jacket... could it be? why were my feet on fire? yes. confirmed. we had been attacked by approximately one bajillion fire ants.

being a selfless slave to the democrats, i pulled off a few more table covers, broke down a some more tables, and cracked a couple jokes before i begged an immediate piggy back ride to the car so i could be on my way to the shower. post-shower i found at least 30 bites, mostly on my feet, one by my knee, two on my upper thigh, and one on my neck.

for five days now, i’ve dealt with swollen, itchy, please-please-can-i-scratch-them feet. a combination of ice, tubes of hydrocortisone, benadryl, and aspririn has kept me alive thus far. oh, and yes, my boots.

the current story:

i truly do not have the self-control to refrain from scratching the hell out of any insect bite, allergic reaction, or scab. i know, i am a child. so, when my boyfriend, after googling “fire ant bite” advised a strict no-touching policy – you know what i did? i waited till he took the dog out, scratched until bad things happened, and then slapped some cortisone and ice packs on my feet to hide the evidence.

since then i’ve worn my boots to keep my feet out of sight. the bites are icky and shouldn’t be out in public, which outlaws flip flops, sandals, flats or heels. and even if the bites didn’t look like evil pimples – leaving the bites available for a scratch fest would lead to, well, a scratch fest. and i can admit that, so i’ve officially prescribed myself boots.

problem is, i think people are starting to talk. it’s a small office you know, and we’re all relatively fashionable (as are my boots), but it’s hard to blend when you’re wearing german army boots in 87 degree weather.

monday... i tucked in some dark jeans and topped with a cream brocade-print sweater and the earrings i used for my november skirt! loves. verdict: ugh. too hot. feel awk. want to chop off feet.

tuesday... black canvas shift dress and stripey scarf from a street market in paris. i look like extremely cool and laid back euro trash.

wednesday... the 87 degree day, where i had to come up with a combination of clothing that involved knee high leather boots while not appearing to be a blind fool who doesn’t watch the weather channel:

tucked in black skinny pants from eng and a ruffled tank from gap.
not awful, think i pulled it off. bonus for being comfortable.

and today... i stepped it up a bit with my heeled boots and a silky dress. i am now thinking i should have incorporated more of an animal theme... maybe a feather hair accessory or a croc clutch to really bring home the safari feel. and maybe i also shouldn’t be doing the scowly mcscowlerson face.

there’s always tomorrow.