Nobody Would Do That

Charity was one of my high school friends. We got a lot closer when we got to university and wound up sharing the same free block to have lunch together everyday. Sometimes Ken would join us (from the Careful Who You Tease story) when he had time, or if he skipped classes. But most of the time, it was just Charity and I.

Charity was a very fashionable individual and she was always one of the best dressed girls that I knew. Blundstone boots were starting to become a thing and Charity was the first person to tell me about them. Now, the traditional Blundstone boots was a boring brown or black color, but Charity, being the fashionista that she was, bought a pair of red ones. I didn’t really care for the shoes, and to be honest, they were kind of ugly in my eyes, but who am I to judge fashion?

The first few times Charity wore her boots and saw another girl in black or brown Blundstones, she would make the point of telling me things like:

“See, no one else has this color!”

During one of our lunches that Ken had joined in on, he mentioned that he would love to shut her up by stealing her boots. I told him it would be harder than he thought as Charity would not give them up without a fight. Ken never did follow through with his threat, but he did plant an idea in my head.

Red Blundstone ankle boots

The next time Charity and I had lunch together, the cafeteria was busier than usual. We found ourselves sitting in the student lounge area, trying to find a comfortable position to eat lunch on a worn down couch that was way softer than it had any right to be. Sitting in the couch made us sink almost to the bottom, so eating was extremely difficult. Charity laughed as she watched me adjust myself over and over again. In the meantime, Charity leaned back into the soft couch and she sank so far in that her legs weren’t even touching the floor.

This was my opportunity to put my plan into action.

As we finished our lunch, we just sat there and continued talking. Because of the terrible seating situation, I could see why students avoided the area during lunch. Every now and then a student would try to sit and eat their lunch, only to leave frustrated and try to eat standing up somewhere else. Charity and I were troopers as we gutted it out. Now we were rewarded with a massive couch to ourselves, and we were too lazy to move. The food in our stomachs and the softness of the couch had moved us into a state of laziness.

As Charity’s legs dangled dangerously off the floor, I decided to shift the topic to her boots.

“They’re nice right?” Charity said.


“They’re unique,” Charity continued for the hundredth time, “everyone else has those boring colors, but I have the red ones.”

“Are they easy to take off?” I asked as I noticed the elastic stretch area on the boot.

“Yeah,” Charity said, oblivious to my motive, “they’re pretty easy to take off. I can just slip them off any time.”

“Aren’t you worried someone can just steal them?”

“No. Nobody would do that.”

I leaned over to her a little. Charity’s eyes widened. I could see the exact moment she caught on to my scheme. Charity tried to lean away from me, but she had sank into the couch. Her booted feet were now vulnerable for me. She couldn’t move her body easily, but she tried to stretch her feet as far away from me as possible.

Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t far enough.

I grabbed the heel of her right boot and gave it a quick tug. Charity was right, they were pretty easy to take off. I could feel that half her foot was already out of the boot with a slight tug.

“Please, no!” Charity begged.

I gave the right boot a slight harder tug and her foot was free. She was wearing white socks.

“Stop it!” she said angrily.

I placed my hand on her left heel now. Her right socked foot trying to kick my hand away.

“No,” she cried, “please don’t.”

I tugged at her left boot and just as easily as the right one was, her boot came off. Charity was now sitting on the couch with her white socked feet dangling slightly above the ground.

“Give me back my boots!”

“Later,” I replied.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Maybe keep them, since they’re so unique,” I teased her.

I stood up and took a few steps with her boots in my hand. Charity sat up as well and reluctantly stood on the dirty school floor in her pristine white socks.

Charity started whining about her socks getting dirty. So I decided to be nice. I was originally planning to make Charity walk to her next class in her socks before giving her boots back. However, I started to feel bad. Her whining was getting to me. Instead, I told her she’d get them back if she walked around the student building.

“All of it?”


I blame Charity for all the whining she was doing because it was attracting unwanted attention. Instead, after she took a few steps, I made her walk around the lounge area only and on the condition that she wasn’t allowed to put her boots back on until we had to leave for class.

She reluctantly obliged.

Dirty socks on the couch

The floors in our university were far from clean. And in that short matter of walking, Charity’s white socks were marred with grey dirt on the bottoms.

As she sat on the couch, I returned her boots, but as promised, she left them off. She sat cross-legged for a while, then knelt on the couch to try and conceal her dirty socked feet before she got tired and laid down.

Charity seemed to forget about her dirty socks when class time came as she slipped them back into her boots without complaint. I reminded her when I walked her to class by apologizing about her boots and getting her socks dirty.

“It’s okay, they’re just socks,” Charity shrugged and we said our goodbyes.

Charity never did say anything about her red Blundstones again. The best thing out of all of this? I knew Charity could take a prank and she became a regular victim of mine for shoe theft for the rest of the semester.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s