Hell and Boots
When I was a kid I remember one of the turning points in my life. I was four or five. We had a heater vent in the floor of the house right in front of the kitchen I believe. It was one of those things you warn your kids about. It was one of those things you know is going to cause trouble. I would jump over it like Indiana Jones to avoid the blast of hot air and heated metal grate. I was immortal at that age.
I remember one evening as I was about to jump over the grate on my way to the kitchen, someone said my name and I turned to look at them. I did not realize I had stopped right on the searing gate to hell. I yelped and cried. I remember vividly that I was more angry at doing something that stupid than the pain.
Of course my family leaped to my rescue. A bit later I just as vividly remember standing on that vent in my boots and thinking to myself "ha-ha .. fuck you gate to hell." or something to that effect. I am quite positive that this is the reason I insist on waring heavy boots to this day.