Even with her pulling and him pushing, the little boots still didn’t want to go on. By the time they got the second boot on, she had worked up a sweat.
She almost cried when the little boy said, “Teacher, they’re on the wrong feet.” She looked, and sure enough, they were.
It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool as together they worked to get the boots back on, this time on the right feet.
Then he announced, “These aren’t my boots.”
She bit her tongue rather than get right in his face and scream, “Why didn’t you say so?” like she wanted to.
Once again, she struggled to help him pull the ill-fitting boots off his little feet. No sooner had they gotten the boots off when he said, “They’re my brother’s boots. My mom made me wear ’em.”
Now she didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. But, she mustered up what grace and courage she had left to wrestle the boots on his feet again.
Helping him into his coat, she asked, “Now, where are your mittens?”
He said, “I stuffed ’em in the toes of my boots.”
She will be eligible for parole in three years…
boy teacher brother aren’t my cowboy boots