The toes knows.

More than any other body part, my feet dictate when I am comfortable. When my feet are hot, I am hot. When they are not… you get the picture. Nothing is worse than a pair of socks with a misaligned seam. That damn thing will drive me far crazier than any idiot on the highway. A similar dynamic has ruled out a whole category of footware. When I was young I could not stand flip-flops (you may know them as sandals). You know, the ones you can find at just about any discount retailer. They are the ones made exclusively out of rubber and plastic, and smack against your feet with each step. Wearing a pair walking back to your car from the beach produces a virtual symphony of sound. Raise your heel with a touch of twist on the ball of your foot – “squeak”, push off – “smack”, and step forward – “squish”. SQUISH-SQUEAK-SMACK… SQUISH-SQUEAK-SMACK… SQUISH-SQUEAK-SMACK… and that’s just one foot, the one underneath that bag of beach stuff on your shoulder. The non-weight bearing foot fills in the harmony. O.K., back to my point. You would think that anything that eliminated the need for socks, and that damnable seam, would be just the ticket. Alas, there’s that piece of plastic that sticks up between your big toe and the next one over (your index toe?) that drives me up a wall. Yikes, I get chills just thinking about it.

You just knew that I had to tie Beth into this, didn’t you? Cheryl presented Beth with her first (and last?) pair of flip-flops. It turns out that she doesn’t like them either, not yet at least. Cheryl set them out on the floor just before Beth’s swim lesson this evening. Beth looked at them with trepidation. After a long pause she slipped both feet in part way. She stood there for several moments just looking down at her feet. Finally she took a few steps across the room, doing her best impersonation of a duck. She quietly slipped her feet back out and said, “I’m going to go get my shoes mommy”.

It’s o.k. Beth, I feel your pain.