The plastic shoes we love to hate. A couple of days ago I ventured out, wearing my Crocs, and I caught the toe of one on the edge of the curb and, once again, fell flat on the sidewalk. I did the same thing last spring, also wearing the stupid Crocs.
Last time it was as I was going into the Habitat for Humanity Restore. Everyone ignored me, even walked around me, while I struggled to right myself. The most recent splat occurred in front of the Aloha Tuesday Morning Store and two employees ran right out, helped me up and got me a chair to sit in for a few minutes. One even brought me a paper towel and container of hand sanitizer to clean my hands off. I was shaken and had hit my knees and hands hard. And, of course, I felt like a feeble, mortified old lady. What I didn't realize until I got up and started moving around was that my most painful injury was to a rib. I think I either cracked it or vigorously pulled a muscle. Very painful still. It is hard to sleep, impossible to pick up my grandchild and just hurts. It makes me crabby. Coughing hurts a lot. Sneezing? Holy Mother of Pearl, that hurts!
I bought those Crocs to wear in the house and studio, not out anywhere, and yet, I continue to run around town in them. Stupid clown shoes. I think they are just too fat and puffy to know where your feet are. I first saw Crocs years ago being worn by quilters. They are even sold at quilt shows. They are comfortable, but we all know that quilters wear the damnedest things!
Now I am chastened and vow never to wear them out of the house again. Maybe Manolo was right.