Some years ago, my fiancee and I were enjoying a few days in the countryside. She'd not been for muddy walks in many years but was glad to see the beauty all around and, soon, we were tramping along footpaths and tracks. She loved exploring the old walls and workings, tumbled-down homes and barns, woods and streams.
Inevitably, it came on to rain and the ground became squelchy underfoot. I was ok in Argyll wellies but her not-welly-boots were not up to the task. I pressed the point and she agreed to head to one of the BATA stores in the area. I was secretly over the moon! Not only was I horny just being around my beautiful soon to be wife but I was giddy with anticipating seeing her in rubber boots. Hunters, especially.
I knew the store we were driving to stocked Hunters, along with Argylls, and those dreadful plastic jobs. My fiancee was a stylish beauty. A knockout, in fact. She looked at the Hunter range - which was limited to dark blue Hunter Originals, and the trademark green colour. These also offered the Huntress option (for more generous calves). She frowned at that innocent but thoughtless suggestion and flat-out laughed at the idea of black Argyll rubber wellies, pointing to my clod-hoppers and shaking her head. Flapping rubber on her calves was not her thing but the stylish Hunter Original: she oozed pleasure as she tried them for size. Decision made: dark blue, made in Scotland under the Gates brand. I was delighted, paid eagerly, and was rewarded with her walking out of the store wearing the new rubber boots.
As a side thought, you can be sure that I was drinking in the scent of the new, now vintage, rubber wellies. I was only too happy to pick out the pairs she wished to try and hold them as she slipped them over her cute feet. I remember that well.
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