Sounds like that kid could learn a thing or two from Mat Cauthon from the Wheel of Time universe.

“I have nothing against nobles,” Mat said, straightening his coat. “I just don’t fancy being one myself.”

“Why is that, then?”

Mat sat for a moment. Why was it? Finally, he looked down at his foot then replaced his boot. “It’s boots.”

“Boots?” Setalle looked confused.

“Boots,” Mat said with a nod, tying his laces. “It’s all about the boots.”

“But—”

“You see,” Mat said, pulling the laces tight, “a lot of men don’t have to worry much about what boots to wear. They’re the poorest of folks. If you ask one of them ‘What boots are you going to wear today, Mop?’ their answer is easy. 'Well, Mat. I only have one pair, so I guess I’m gonna wear that pair.’”

Mat hesitated. “Or, I guess they wouldn’t say that to you, Setalle, since you’re not me and all. They wouldn’t call you Mat, you understand.”

“I understand,” she said, sounding amused.

“Anyway, for people that have a little coin, the question of which boots to wear is harder. You see, average men, men like me…” He eyed her. “And I’m an average man, mind you.”

“Of course you are.”

“Bloody right I am,” Mat said, finishing with his laces and sitting up. “An average man might have three pairs of boots. Your third best pair of boots, those are the boots you wear when you’re working at something unpleasant. They might rub after a few paces, and they might have a few holes, but they’re good enough to keep your footing. You don’t mind mucking them up in the fields or the barn.”

“All right,” Setalle said.

“Then you have your second best pair of boots,” Mat said. “Those are your day-to-day boots. You wear those if you are going over to dinner at the neighbors. Or, in my case, you wear those if you’re going to battle. They’re nice boots, give you good footing, and you don’t mind being seen in them or anything.”

“And your best pair of boots?” Setalle asked. “You wear those to social events, like a ball or dining with a local dignitary?”

“Balls? Dignitaries? Bloody ashes, woman. I thought you were an inn-keeper.”

Setalle blushed faintly.

“We’re not going to any balls,” Mat said. “But if we had to, I suspect we’d wear our second best pair of boots. If they’re good enough for visiting old lady Hembrew next door, then they’re bloody well good enough for stepping on the toes of any woman fool enough to dance with us.”

“Then what are the best boots for?”

“Walking,” Mat said. “Any farmer knows the value of good boots when you go walking a distance.”

Setalle looked thoughtful. “All right. But what does this have to do with being a nobleman?”

“Everything,” Mat said. “Don’t you see? If you’re an average fellow, you know exactly when to use your boots. A man can keep track of three pairs of boots. Life is simple when you have three pairs of boots. But noblemen… Talmanes claims he has forty different pairs of boots at home. Forty pairs, can you imagine that?”

She smiled in amusement.

“Forty pairs,” Mat repeated, shaking his head. “Forty bloody pairs. And, they aren’t all the same kind of boots either. There is a pair for each outfit, and a dozen pairs in different styles that will match any number of half your outfits. You have boots for kings, boots for high lords, and boots for normal people. You have boots for winter and boots for summer, boots for rainy days and boots for dry days. You have bloody shoes that you wear only when you’re walking to the bathing chamber. Lopin used to complain that I didn’t have a pair to wear to the privy at night!”

“I see… So you’re using boots as a metaphor for the onus of responsibility and decision placed upon the aristocracy as they assume leadership of complex political and social positions.”

“Metaphor for…” Mat scowled. “Bloody ashes, woman. This isn’t a metaphor for anything! It’s just boots!”

Setalle shook her head. “You’re an unconventionally wise man, Matrim Cauthon.”