It's a well-known fact...I have small feet and hands. It's hereditary; my mother is one of the only people (sans those under the age of 15, of course) who has smaller hands than I do. The rub? I'm just shy of 5'10". My extremities don't match the rest of me.
Now this is not a big deal, just something my family usually makes fun of. And it is funny. I have the smallest feet in the family, and when I was little I couldn't wear salt-water sandals on our trip down the Pacific Coast; they were too wide and my little feet just fell right out of them. I had "special" sandals that didn't feel all that special. They were brown; my sisters' were pink.
Current day result...The Farmer's pinkie is bigger than my thumb.
*****
One of the first "gifts" The Farmer gave me was a pair of work gloves. Size small.
He's very romantic.
His most recent gift for me was my own pair of work boots. I know, girls, you are all swooning! But in reality it really is a big deal, this gift o' rubber boots. It means I don't have to borrow his sister's. I have my OWN PAIR. I belong.
Of course, the cynics could also be thinking...sucker!
I'll choose the first. It's a sweet...if not advantageous for The Farmer...gift.
I ordered my boots from Big George, who is a travelling salesman. Yes, they still exist. He shows up on the farm with his trailer full of items for The Farmer. I'll admit, there's not much in there for me. Except boots, of course.
The Farmer had given Big George the heads up that I needed a miniature version of work boots, as he doesn't normally carry a size 5 men's. He still didn't have my size, but I tried on two different pairs to see what I wanted.
The final purchase?
A mini-me version of The Farmer's boots.
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