I was at the dollar tree store a few days ago and bought a pair of flip-flops. (Yeah, BFD, Lecram!) Actually, it was… er… is. You see the last time I owned and wore a pair was in my early teens. I loved wearing them… though my mother and grandmother expressed a considerable disdain toward my favorite footwear at the time.
“Your toes will spread and your feet will look like a chicken’s foot.”
Seriously, that’s what I heard my grandmother say once. Of course. in an act of youthful defiance I continued wearing them. Though they didn’t like it… and would make a remark of disdain every so often… they really didn’t push the issue. Simply because I was at least wearing something. For the longest time I was the “barefoot kid”… running around the old neighborhood with only the soles I was born with. The furrows of frowns ran deeper on the foreheads over this. (Which automatically made me a “ragamuffin”… or so I heard.) So, to raise my station in acceptable society… the compromise was flip-flops. They did lobby hard for casual footwear that was more (gentlemanly and) roman sandal-like… but I stuck to my guns. (Those were half a step away from girlie shoes.) So, flip-flops it was.
I loved wearing them. Afterall… I lived in an equatorial climate – perfect conditions to wear them… for walking. I learned pretty early that running in them could be a hazard. The front of one catching the ground in mid-stride and being catapulted face first resulting in a spectacular case of “road rash” was a lesson quickly learned. (Flip-Flop Tip: If you need to run because the owner of the house returned and found you stealing picking guavas or mangos off his prize tree, or a kite got snapped and was floating in the breeze… for any reason whatsoever… take them off first… abandon them if you must.)
I also learned that flip-flops had other great many wonderful (and practical) uses. It functioned as an effective (and stealth) fly/bug swatter when the need arose… knee-pads when playing marbles in the sand… attached to a string and thrown over a branch it became a great “fruit stripper”. There was also a game that involved flinging a flip-flop at a stack of cards… if any (card/s) landed outside the circle… you won those. A weapon – I had a friend who developed a deft ninja flip-flop throw that could stun unsuspecting critters off their perch from 15 feet away.
Most impressive of all it functioned as a great “float” when attached to a fishing line in the Tom Sawyer – like days of my youth. Simply attach it at about 18 inches from the hook and sinker and cast it in the waters of the nearby mining pool. Then sit back and wait for it to bob in the water. (You know… I never thought much about it then… but on reflection now… this was pure genius!)
In the raging hormones of my mid-teens which led to the rise of (questionable) fashion conciseness stemming from the need to be attractive to the opposite camp… coupled with another classic line from my grandmother, “You look like a fish-monger wearing those!”, echoing in my head… I finally capitulated and retired my flip-flops. From that point on my feet were encased in nothing less than canvas shoes. I loved those too… but that’s another story.
I finally wore my new pair of flip-flops yesterday. I like them. Hmm… maybe I’ll go fishing.
… something becomes the second or third choice in one’s daily routine. It really spells out that the “something” is over… or at least on it’s way out. In this case it’s the “talking head” news shows that I used to follow first thing in the morning. Though I’d rather like to think I have successfully (finally) transitioned back into real life from the whirlwind that was the last election. (Real Life… what’s that?) I still keep in touch with the news… the difference now being that I don’t “need to know” as it’s happening.
