Is it just me in whom sightings of women hobbling around in knee high riding boots evoke these vivid images of blonde SS aufseherins, barking orders in guttural German[1] as evil looking whips swish overhead? Speaking of these boots (there goes another pair), this doesn't mean that I find myself wishing that my eyes be equipped with shoe reshaping lasers which would enable to me to demolish & refashion horrid shoes that cross my vision to suit my elevated aesthetic tastes - this wish grows particularly insistent when I behold shoes such as those with dagger-like pointy fronts and stiletto heels[2], which offend all senses of theology and geometry - no, with these boots my responses are decidedly more delicately complex and repressed, very much like those I may have towards kinky sexual activities such as application of exotic feathers to strategic locations[3]. O! So doth a man acquire more neuroses to discuss with a potential therapist.

[1] Yet Rilke's German, even if largely incomprehensible to me, has so much sonic force