My flips went flop

R.I.P. old, navy, Old Navy flip-flops.

I try to avoid getting too attached to objects, but losing this pair of shoes actually snags my heart a little. This $2 pair of flip-flops is what propelled me around the world.

You guys, if these shoes could talk … well, first they would say some pretty filthy stuff. But then then would tell you all about their extraordinary adventures.

These shoes have been up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, on safari in South Africa, through rice fields in Uganda, around temples in Cambodia, inside pyramids in Giza. They took me down the beaches of Goa and to the top of Mt. Sinai. I inappropriately wore them to a nightclub in Argentina. One flop got washed away down a gutter in Chiang Mai during Songkran; I chased it down in the murky moat water.

They have stepped over fish heads, garbage and cow dung. They have been across insect-encrusted floors, inside countless nasty bathrooms and showers, over layers of filth I still refuse to acknowledge. There’s a good chance they are infected with typhoid.

When I befriended tigers in Thailand, I was warned to keep my shoes on, “in case you have to run for your life.” Not that I was ever going anywhere fast in my flip-flops.

My flip-flops have been called many names by new friends all over the globe. They are “thongs” to Aussies, “jandals” to Kiwis and “ship-ships” in Egypt — because that’s the sound you make as you walk through the sand. “Ship … ship … ship …”

These flip-flops were a part of me for so long, you can still see the imprint of my foot in them.

After I returned from my trip, The Husband begged me to throw them away.

“You can’t just wear flip-flops every day for the rest of your life. Also, they smell,” he said. “Let me buy you some new shoes.”

“These are all the shoes I need!” I snapped, and I continued to wear them.

Until one day I didn’t. I was lured out of the house without my trusty flip-flops, betraying them with a sultry pair of Nikes. And of course, that was the day my dog decided to get her chew on.

So it’s all my fault. I left my flip-flops alone and vulnerable, instead of on my feet where they belonged. Now I have to pay the price.

Just know how much I’ll miss you, Shoes. You were a trusty and loyal companion. You were sturdy and reliable. You flip-flopped my heart, and I’ll never be the same.