August 08, 2007 They pranced around all weekend in pink and purple flip-flops but bare feet were fine too. Dead grass, gravel and blazing hot sand hardly fazed my nieces during their visit two weeks ago. I was jealous.
For me, going barefoot is the epitome of summer and carefree youth. The barrier between indoors and out is eliminated...footwear is optional and even if you must wear something they're easy to slip off.
It's a fight I'm still waging, but my toes probably won't see the light of day again. I've officially graduated to lace-up loafers and plastic arch supports, 365 days a year. Anything less and my legs and back protest.
So, I'm left to reminisce about the cool shoes that saw me through to adulthood.
There were the 'jelly shoes,' purple plastic weave with sparkles. Unfortunately, they became synonymous with an unpleasant moment—the day my kitten sat down on my seven year-old foot and peed.
The bright, shiny patent leather Mary Janes to go with my flower girl dresses were some of the fanciest shoes I'd ever worn at six and seven.
Then there were all the unique styles I grabbed off the rack thanks to a college roommate who worked in Macy's shoe department—platform sandals, fringed cowboy boots and ostrich feather slippers.
Living on a farm gives you a new perspective on shoes too. There's water, mud, manure, scratchy straw and hay and large hooves...enough to make your toes curl in fright. That's the one time a sturdy pair of dusty boots are ideal.
So wear a pair of strappy wedge sandals for me...this time I can't let pain win out over beauty.