Not my Flip Flops!
To know me is to know I live in flip-flops. It may be raining. There may be snow on the ground. But you better believe, I’ll be wearing flip-flops.
I even wore a $3 pair of white flip-flops to my own wedding. (Which, in hindsight, I should have milked it and gotten fabulous new shoes, but oh well.)
When I was pregnant, my ankles, or cankles, were outta control. So much so, I blamed my swollen feet for having to wear flip-flops all winter, which everyone really knew I’d be wearing them anyway.
After a trip to the podiatrist a couple weeks ago and learning I have plantar fasciitis, I was informed that my flip-flop days are over.
Stupid high arched feet. Apparently, the flip-flops helped cause this condition. I’m not shocked; Reid’s been warning me about my flip-flop overuseage since we got married. I was in denial.
But now it hurts to walk and run, so I’m listening.
I’m still wearing my flip flops because I haven’t decided exactly which pair of shoes to invest in yet. But their time is coming.
And it will be a sad day.
And a good day because I’ll have new shoes and that’s never sad.