The happy thing about this is that most of these things have straightforward purposes. I took the hole-punch out of its packaging, punched a hole in my calendar, and hung the calendar on last year's calendar's nail. Calendar on the wall, hole-punch in the desk drawer, problem solved. How...straightforward. How unlike anything even remotely related to fiction.
Well, if it was straightforward, it probably wouldn't be as satisfying when things work out all right. At least that's what I tell myself.
My current advice to you is not to go to a Home Despot on a day lots of people have off, especially if it's not a holiday in itself. If you must, my advice to you is not to be young and female. I feel sure that many of those men had seen an unaccompanied woman before, but you wouldn't know it from the staring. I kept wanting to check to make sure I hadn't had some critical garment failure or fountain pen incident or something else stare-worthy. Nope. And I haven't even dressed for dinner yet. Because, really, people ought to look at my boots. Because they are The Boots.
I am five years old again with these boots. I forgot to ask anybody to take my picture in them so far. I will try to remember soon. Boooooots.