I want to be a flip-flop girl. Is that what you call them? That’s what we always called but them but I guess they are also known as thongs or zories…actually, it would appear that they have lots of names but I only ever called them flip-flops.
I know I wore them when I was a kid but not as a teen-ager. Since I moved to California though, I have desperately tried to be a flip-flop girl. They are the shoe of choice out here in L.A. It seems to be pretty much flip-flops or Jimmy Choos down by the beach. I can’t afford the Jimmys but I can afford cheap rubber sandals. In fact I can afford them in lots of colors. But I did learn the dangers of cheap thongs. I bought a sparkly pair of faux Birkenstock style thongs for a party last year and suffered blisters…BETWEEN MY TOES! Do you have any idea how painful that is? Just take my word for it…very painful. But I am, as you know, kind of stupid when it comes to some things and just last week I bought two pairs of rubber thongs for $5. What a bargain! What a pain! Now I have blisters on top of my feet. Why do I never learn?
I really want that casual beach girl thing. I want that “Hey, I just went surfing and I am all windblown and sunburnt but in a really cute way” look. But that’s so very not me. I love the comfort (well, relative comfort when they don’t give you blisters that is) and ease of flip-flops. I like the look. I can get them in any color! I like the cheerful slapping sounds they make when I walk. But more than any of that…I love my feet not being frozen. As I type this, I sit here wearing cropped pants, a long sleeved top, a sweat jacket, socks and Birkenstocks. And I am still cold. And yes, that is a sexy, sexy filthy hippie look, Birkenstocks and socks. Ooh. My flip-flops lay abandoned under my desk because the socks won’t slip through the thongy part.
I want to be a California-type girl. I mean, I know I could never actually be a California girl but I want to look breezy and casual. But when it is 110° outside, it’s 40 freaking below inside and dressing for the weather actually means dressing for the air conditioning. And me and air conditioning, we have a love/hate relationship. I love it for about twenty minutes and then it hates me and gives me the cold shoulder, the really cold shoulder. The wool sweater in the dead of summer type of cold shoulder. The socks and Birkenstocks type of cold shoulder.
And to add insult to injury, I live in the valley but work near the beach. If you don’t live in L.A. you may just think, “Oh how nice for her” and it is nice, in a way. But what it really means is a 20° differential in temperature on any given day. I wake up in the desert and travel to the lovely cool coast. I dress in light summer clothes to leave the house, bundle up in sweaters to work in my artic tundra of an office and then have to peel the layers off before heading back over the hill. Socks off, Birkenstocks stowed under the car seat, flip-flops back on for the evening.
I want to be a flip-flop girl but my cold blood won’t allow it. I am lizard like. And lizards have cold feet. And cold feet need socks. And feet with socks don’t fit in thongs. Sigh.