The Direction of Intention

I admit it. We are both dedicated flip-flop wearers. We’d rather be barefoot and flip-flops are the closest-to-barefoot-shoe-option. We are surrounded by friends with fallen arches and riddled with warnings about proper-support-as-we-age. Yesterday, Yaki told me I was young-at-heart and I took his words as affirmation that Kerri and I have many flip-flop years ahead of us.

All I can say is that we are as capable of denial as anyone. Despite midnight calf cramps, sometimes aching knees and backs, we slip on our flip-flops and head out the door to walk the neighborhood. As counter measures, we eat bananas for potassium to ward off the leg cramps. We drink more water. We drink more wine. There is so much necessary-and-serious-strategy in our flip-flop dedication!

People identify through their footwear choices and, as people, we are no exception. Someday in the far distant future, we are going to get in trouble with Nurse Ratchet for continually taking off our shoes. “Flip-flops are a tripping hazard!” the good nurse will admonish as she reties our blocky sensible shoes onto our feet. We’ll wait for her to leave the room and say, “I never had much sense anyway,” as we kick off the clunkers and slip on our favorite tripping hazards. “It’ll give me a good reason to fall down,” I’ll wink and say, which will inspire Kerri’s favorite oldie-timey moniker for me: “Smartypants,” she’ll sigh, followed by, “Now, help me put on my flops.”

read Kerri’s blogpost on this saturday morning smack-dab.

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