is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Friday shoe fail
Friday, September 17, 2010 The time for sandal-wearing is short. I'm woman enough to admit that and shoe-whore enough to know that five minutes after I sniffle while packing up my favorite strappy heels, I will be luxuriating in a pair of buttery soft leather boots. Still, for the sake of my happy little nakey toes, I'm wearing the summer shoes as often and as long as I can.
Well, except for my favorite flip-flops. The ones I adore with the peacock feather stamped in silver across the top and the cushiony but thin sole. The ones I bucked up and paid more than I usually would for flip-flops because I was taking a fabulous vacation, during which I planned to be both fabulous and poolside for five days, and because I wanted to be simultaneously comfy and casual and pretty. The ones I wore regularly but not incessantly for one short summer before...before...
The anchor for the adorable little silver plastic strap snapped, leaving my favorite flip-flops irreparable, broken, flapped out for good.
Lil E suggested we had three options: glue, tape, staples.
I suggested writing a strongly word letter to Mr. Havaianas himself for dangly those tattoo-inspired slip-ons in front of me and then snatching the strap away just to make up for the many generic pairs I'd hastily thrown into my basket in a Walgreen's act of desperation. Or maybe there was some kind of flip-flop foundation who could field my complaint call. Possibly, a shoe first aid kit in the resort where we were staying.
It's not that I'm just disappointed that my spendy, cheap shoes barely outlived the $30 charge on my Macy's card. It's that I felt like more than my flip-flops faded. I felt like my summer had been ripped from my tan-lined feet, not just my sandals.
I haven't parted with the peacock pretties just yet. They're lying in state on my bedroom floor a few inches from the guilty and inadequate dislodged strap anchor. I look at them longingly every morning before I step over them to reach for one of my other fifteen pairs of summer shoes (don't judge me).
Hopefully, by next summer a new pair of flip-flops will fill the void that these have, barely halfway through September, already left on my heels and in my heart.
Reader Comments (1)