I need to get to the store to get milk, so I run out to my car thinking this will be a quick trip. I have four stores all within a stone's throw that sell milk, so this should be a no brainer. I'd walk to a store, but I need the milk ten minutes ago, so I'm driving. Or, I'm trying to drive. I throw on my pink and black beach flip-flops and head outside.
I get out to the end of the driveway, where I'm parked so my son can get his car in and out as needed by going around me. I'm about to get into my car and zoom away when I notice a neighborhood kid's scooter under my tires. I'm nice enough not to run over it, but I'm not nice enough to forgive the kid's lazy behavior, so I pick the scooter up and whip it onto the sidewalk. If someone steals it, that's not really my problem.As I'm madly (and I do mean mad-ly) trouncing around the scooter, I trip and almost fall over. Then I almost fall over again. What. The. Hell. I'm not drunk. Not yet, anyway. What is the issue here?
I look down. My flip-flop has fallen apart. It hasn't broken the normal way, like when the toe prong breaks apart. No, this one has to be difficult. The entire pink bottom half of the foot part itself has separated from the black top half. I've never seen anything like it.
Having broken a flip-flop before and been left without any shoes, and, because sometimes I will take an impromptu trip to the beach after work (school -- where I am banned from wearing flip-flops), I always keep a spare pair of flip-flops in my car. I don't even bother to go back into my house. I take the broken flip-flop and its mate and I pitch them back toward the house, landing next to my son's car way up in the driveway.
"Fucking scooter. Fucking shoes. Fucking milk." This is the mantra I am muttering under my breath to no one in particular. Thankfully, I think I am the only witness to my tirade.
I run to the store, get the milk, come back, re-park my car at the end of the driveway, toss my emergency beach flip-flops back into the car, and gather up my busted usual beach flip-flops from the driveway. I'd like to say all is right with the world, but, to be honest, any time beach shoes break, it depresses me.
Oh, well. I guess it's time to spend another couple of dollars on new beach flip-flops. After all, it has probably been four years that I've worn that pair, probably longer. Time to splurge!
