So, in a couple of months I'll be taking a rather lengthy trip to South America. Apparently, for this trip, I will need a pair of comfortable yet durable waterproof sandals.
Sure, no problem.
I know of some shoes that are comfortable, durable, and waterproof. I mean, I'd normally never get these shoes, but there's no reason NOT to, i mean, if they're FUNCTIONAL, that's what matters. Right? ...?
And that is how I found myself the owner of:
This is my pair. (really? I own a pair of crocs? No I don't.)
It feels strange to say, like "my prostate," or "my quarterhorses." These are things I just don't formulate in first-person possessive sentences.
"My parking space at the embassy."
"My unfolded laundry."
"My hair relaxing kit."
And I looked at the damn things, put them on and took them off about a dozen times, caught NO END OF FLACK from Brandon about them, defended them, and ACTUALLY HEARD MYSELF SAY TO A FRIEND, "Yeah... (petulant sigh) I just don't know if I'm a Crocs person."
What am I becoming.
So the thing is, it turns out: I can't do it. I have to take them back. Instead I bought the only other comfortable yet durable waterproof sandal I can think of, which I have probably made fun of EVEN MORE than I have made fun of Crocs in my lifetime:
although I think I have to start listening to Phish now, which is really going to be tough for me. Great. I own Tevas. And to make it worse, I've been trying to play more acoustic guitar lately.
Getting married is making me lamer by the day.