Monday, December 1, 2008

Do (insufficient) shoes make the man?

Let's start out this bit by saying this...if you know me, you likely know I'm not the kind of person to hand down a verdict of another person at first glance. (Well, unless I'm with the girls and there's a really good punchline in it for me) I mean, yes, I might have been guilty of a little harmless running commentary on the sparkling whale's tail leaping bravely out of a girl's jeans onto her mid-back. But, I mean it purely in a Tim Gund/Tim Conway-ish kind of way. I mean, hey, if I'm going to see another's undergarments, please let them not be overly whorish and ill-fitting. Or jokes on you.

So back to the footwear question.

Here's the thing. I had a date show up in flip flops. And I found this odd for a few reasons:

1. We were in Dover, NH. In the fall.
2. He wasn't carrying a longboard on his shoulder, nor was he sporting a head of salty blonde curls.
3. He was 42.
4. Did I mention we were in Dover? Landlocked?

So here I am...nervous as hell ('cause I'm horrible at this dating thing) and the first thing I notice are these flip flops. And I am completely horrified and spellbound at the same time. I simply could NOT keep my eyes from clockwork glances down at the choice of footwear. Flip flops. Toes and all hanging out like we were catching a wave and sitting...well, you know how the song goes.

He had really nice feet, though. I'll definitely give him that.

But really?
Flip flops?

I then went through this horrible guilty phase of the date. Where I ordered another glass of wine and beat myself up for getting hung up on the flops. Where I insanely, quietly self-lectured about the immaterial nature of one's footwear and how half-grown I was being.

But truth told, I couldn't shake it. This thought that a flimsy footchoice on the first date makes a man, well, flimsy. Unless, that is, you're Jeff Spicoli. Or my brother-in-law. Because then, you actually live near sand and surf. And you're cool. The flip flops actually make a bit of sense...

I think I hid it pretty well. My concern/obsession about the flops. Because he did ask me out again.

And I, eager to catch the new Cohen brother's film, and not wanting to be judgemental and all fashion-rash, said yes.

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