Flip Flops

  Flipflopflipflopflipflop, the sound of a harried mom scampering back to the car to get junior’s own pair of sandals because, of course, he’s barefoot and the path to the beach gets progressively hotter. 

  Then there's the flip......flop.....flip.....flop of the professional beach goer who doesn't need to hurry, who just meanders throughout his day. Flip…flop…flip….sometimes shuffle…flop.

  In my own flip flops I’m never quite as confident. I either stub a toe, roll my ankle, and twist out of them walking through puddles. All that’s left for me is to blow out a pair. 

  That reminds me of Jimmy Buffet's song: Margaritaville. Specifically, the line "blew out my flip flop." What an iconic symbol the flip flop. Summer. The beach. Boho chic. Care-free existence.

  Surprisingly enough, it's hard to find a great pair that fits just right (like jeans). I had the perfect pair once but they only lasted 18 months. Perfect smooth feel sliding into them. The strap between the big toe and the, what, index toe(?) was the right kind of snug; not too tight, not too loose. The sole pad, both soft and springy. 

  Then, mysteriously, the plastic-rubber combo decided that it had had enough and simply gave out. The padding disappeared too. I started feeling every contour of the sidewalk, every roll of grassy turf through the soles of my feet. I tried to find another pair but production was discontinued. 

  Maybe the padding disappeared on them too!