Sole Decision

For most ladies, warm weather means a few things: namely, sundresses & sandals. I own approximately two sundresses, one of which I wore today, & I don't particularly like sandals because I tend to have a bad habit of touching my feet, which is, you know, gross, & sandals make it easier for me to indulge in said sick habit. The benefit of not wearing sandals much is that I tend not to develop the "It's summer!" blisters that come with breaking out the first round of flip-flops.

Today, I wore the aforementioned sundress. And instead of sandals, I wore close-toed black flats with a black bow. Oh, wait, instead of telling you, I could just show you:


Yeah, those. Black flats from Old Navy, a store certainly renowned for its comfortable & supportive footwear.

I've owned these suckers for approximately EVER, & I'll admit that a close friend once instructed - nay, ordered - me to throw them away because they sometimes, um, smell a little bit. Anyway, I found 'em buried in my closet this a.m., which was a pleasant surprise because I thought I'd acquiesced my friend's demand.

And tonight, I decided to walk home from work. One mile into it, it was like I'd just run a marathon in a pair of slippers. I grabbed dinner, hopped a bus & hobbled home to nurse my wounded soles. Lest I think I was safe from the dreaded summer sandal massacre, I present you with photographic evidence to the contrary:






OK, OK, fine. They don't look like any major battle wounds. But I promise you, my feet are screaming at me. I think I might be in less pain if I'd just walked a mile in actual slippers.