Often times I find myself trying to walk rather stealthy in a quiet place so as not to disturb others. I wear corduroy pants the majority of the time, so it proves a bit of a task, especially with my favorite pair, which sound like someone ripping a telephone book in half each time I step. I also try to make the pants be silent just at any time there are more than a few people around, out of habit, so pretty much the majority of the time I'm trying to be quiet. That means the majority of the time I've looked as silly as I discovered today.

Tip-toeing through my work place, I noticed that I walk like a cowboy with these pants on. Well, I suppose technically I mosey with these pants on. Proper terms aside, I still do it, and that means I've always done it, all this time without realizing. I do it all the way too. The knees buckle out like I'm trying to walk over a bunch of barrels that are in my path. That's not the best description, I realize, but you all know how cowboys walk. Like me.

Maybe I should just quit fighting it, realize I'm apparently meant to be a cowboy (howdy howdy howdy), and get some of those nappy cowboy boots. Then at least, I could truly be a cowboy. Or Axel Rose.

The one good thing about all of this is that maybe I can get away with wearing spurs. Without the boots I mean...I'll just attach a pair to some Chucks. I think it actually make class a bit more fun (and with spurs, such incidents as this wouldn't occur, not only because of the spurs, but because, well, have you ever seen a cowboy just fall over without having been shot or had his legs pulled out from under him by Zorro's whip?). I'd arrive a bit late (because it will take the horse a bit longer to go those 30 miles, you see), while class was already going on, and I'd step into the hall that leads to my class. The spurs would echo loudly down the empty corridor, and the students would have fallen silent, unsure what was about to happen. It's a good 20 paces to the room, so I'll have them all curious, wondering, and fearful by the time my shoe comes into view, its gleaming silver spur catching just enough light to make it shine for an instant and make that "ting" sound like peoples teeth do when they are newly cleaned. There will be a simultaneous gasp and I'll pivot on my stiff, yet bent and properly moseyed (can you believe that is actually a real word?) leg, exposing my towering silhouette in the doorway, and I'll exclaim very masuclinely something like "there's a snake in my boot!"

On second thought, I think I'll just try and stop walking retarded.

devolve | evolve