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The Boots

It all started three years ago. We had been married for 10 years and were as happy as clams in the sea. My husband, Jim worked evenings in a high pressure job and he would come home after work and guzzle down a beer to unwind. Well as time went on it was two, three, four, five, and finally six beers a night. Even on his days off he would drink a six pack every day.

It got so bad that if there was not any beer in the house he would make a mixed drink and drink three or four of those. When the liquor ran out he would drink the wine. It came to the point where someone had given us a bottle of Thunderbird as a joke and he swilled it down. Every night I would watch in horror and hurt as he drank and became a belligerent drunk. I tried reasoning and addressing my worries about him being an alcoholic but to no avail.

It all came to a head on Christmas night. The house was bare of alcohol with the exception of a bottle of thirty five year old Irish whiskey that was giving to me as a gift. It was distilled the year I was born and brought from the old country here. Jim came home from work and I gave him his presents. It was not much, some music, clothes, and funny cards. He thanked me and set everything off to the side. He went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with glass of coke. I looked at him confused.

I didn’t say anything about his lack of consideration. But figured he was leading up to suckering me into asking and then he would pull out something really special. Well, from my words thus far you can guess nothing special showed up. Finally after seeing him drink three cokes as we watched television I broke down and asked where was my gift was.

His reply was short and cut like a knife, “I didn’t get around to getting it.”

Standing I stomped into the kitchen. I was too mad and way too hurt to talk to him. In the kitchen I saw my beloved bottle of whiskey sitting empty on the counter. To say I came unwound is to say a tornado is a little bitty wind storm.

We had our first fight that night, him semi drunk and me, an Irish ally cat, madder then hell. I locked him out of the bedroom and cried myself to sleep. In all my years I had never been hurt like that. The man on the other side of the door screaming at me was not the man I married. He eventually stopped pounding and I was able to get some sleep.

The next morning he realized he had fucked up and tried to say he was sorry. But, being true to my heritage and still madder then hell I was not buying it. I did not talk to him for three days. He would say something and I would not even look at him in reply. When I worked out what to do and how to handle his drinking problem we were on the way to the mall to pick up a pair of work shoes I had ordered for him for xmass and had not come-in in time.

I had decided that I would have my revenge and have some fun at the same time. You see, I just love high heels, corsets, and latex rubber. Well call me evil if you will but this is the first words I said to him, “Jim, you have a drinking problem. You have two choices, ether give me a divorce or…”

Jim looked at me and said softly, “or?”

I let it hang as I parked the car at the mall and after turning off the ignition turned to him, “You will not drink more then two beers a night. Every time we make love you will wear what I say, and do what I say to do.” I paused and before he could say anything, “If you drink more then for every beer over the two you will wear this.” Opening my purse I pulled out a printout with a picture of calf high ballet boots.

He looked at the picture and then up at me, “you got to be joking.”

I looked at him coldly, “Do I look like I am joking? Your choice, the boots or a divorce.”

He shook his head and looked down at the paper. Gulping he said softly, “The boots.”

I was not having his half hearted bullshit games, “I did not hear you.”

Jim looked up, “the boots”

I took the paper back from his unresisting hands, “Look at me and understand, I am not playing games. You fuck up one more time and out you go.”

He looked at me tears in his eyes and said, “I understand Carol. I love you and will do anything you say to keep from losing you.”

Normally I was a sucker for his tears and the whipped puppy dog look but I was not having it this time. “I know you do, and I love you too dear. If I didn’t we would not be sitting here talking now.”

We spent the rest of the day shopping and the topic lay like a wall between us. But at least we were talking to each other.

That evening when we got home I went online, ordered the boots, and put the picture of them up on the refrigerator as a reminder.