Lingering on the hooks

Driving down Louisiana's Route 23 south of New Orleans, a road that stabs deep into Plaquemines Parish, I flash past an evening establishment with these intriguing words on a sign outside: "Monday: Karaoke night! Tuesday: Lingerie night!"

As you can imagine, I have revised my entire travel schedule for the next several days. I now plan to be on Route 23 on Monday night.

And no, for you salivating hordes out there, I didn't have the time to catch the name of the establishment. Sorry. You'll just have to rumble down 23 yourself.

(All right, all right, make that Tuesday night).

For no discernible reason, this reminds me of tying my boots. See, I own this pair of Hi-Tec hiking boots, have had them for 15+ years. I've used them in all kinds of places, but have not needed them in the last few years. Until this trip, when I have used them extensively through the cold weather that chased me from Boston south till Tennessee. So it's on this trip that I was reminded, all over again, of the one minor irritating characteristic these boots have always had.

It's like this: the laces go through small metal triangles till halfway up, then you sling them taut over three sets of metal hooks before tying a knot. Now I usually wear these boots after I've put on my pants. (Somehow the idea of emerging in my boxers and boots has never had much appeal). So the bottoms of the legs of the pants overlap (is that the word I want?) the tops of the boots.

In particular, they obscure the hooks.

Thus I am invariably doing up my laces by feel: using my fingertips to locate the right hook and then pulling the lace over it.

And this, naturally, gives me a definite appreciation for a task you ladies accomplish every day with ease and aplomb, a task that involves finding tiny hooks by feel.

Thus the link from next Tuesday night to tying boots.