Day 71- Whenever I Cross Your Trail, My Brakes Just Fail

The first time I saw a pair of Crocs was in the hospital. I watched a nurse move around the room, her hideous shoes issuing a "squeak squeak" every time she turned. At the time, I pitied the homely ring-less woman, thinking her shoes couldn't be helping her love life. When the shoes hit the public about four years ago, I vowed I would not cave to the craze. No way in hell would I buy the bright tubers for my kids, and I certainly wasn't going to look like a physical therapy patient.

Then I broke. I wore my first impostor pair around the house, as my "garden shoes." They really did come in handy when I watered the indoor cactus. Ha! It's been a slippery slope ever since. I now wear my vegan friendly shoes out in public (so what if I don't eat anything without a mother.) I wear the red Mary Jane numbers so much the stink-proof shoes now reek. After being washed. I give my friend Stacy hell about her ugly-ass Fuggs, but I have no right. I have become a shoe hypocrit.

Tomorrow I will drive 22 miles to a huge Crocs closeout sale, at a mall in an area I wouldn't dare enter after dark. I'm looking at mixing it up a bit. I think I've had it with the fluorescent numbers. I've furthered the priss image I constantly try to shrug with the Mary Janes. I'm looking for something a bit more sophisticated; maybe a stacked brown sandal - in plastic.

"Totally Hot," Olivia Newton-John, 1978.

Please read along with all the lovely ladies at right. This has been fun, and I'm up for another challenge!