If there is one thing that keeping chickens has taught me, it's that you really need to have that one pair of unholy footwear, the kind you could leave behind if your house were on fire and you wouldn't regret it. The chicken yard calls for treadless shoes. Flat soled shoes are both pragmatic and a time saver. Who needs to spend ten minutes digging chicken poo out of the soles of a pair of high-end running shoes with a brittle stick? Not I, said the fly.
Last summer I had the foresight to purchase not one but two pair of ninety-nine cent flip-flops. If I'd really had foresight, I would have bought five pair or twelve but that is assuming that I'll have chickens until the day I die and I'm not willing to bet on that just yet.
Spontaneous shoe wisdom seemed to have rained down upon me because I also discovered that I could a. throw those bad boys in the shower with me and scrub them clean or b. throw them in the washing machine. I was late coming to the washing machine idea but it is now my preferred method of flip flop sanitation since I have also come to realize that flip flops are the cockroaches of footwear. Indestructible. The post-Apocolypse generation will all don flip-flops, let me assure you of that, my friend.
I never really imagined that I would become so fond of my foamy little sandals but you know what happens once you give something a pet name, it wraps it's little roots around your heart and doesn't want to let go. In our house, we refer to my flip-flops by one name only (flip-flop is the "formal" name, the one I use if ladies are present). They are affectionately known as poo-gliders. That's right. Poo-gliders as in, "Have you seen my poo-gliders? I thought I left them by the back door" and Michael will know exactly what I am looking for.
The poo-gliders must be a dog's dream of the perfect chew toy if it is true that they are drawn to scent. The newest addition to our canine crew made the mistake of taking a glider out for a spin only once before she was quickly and sternly corrected. She has kept a respectful distance ever since.
Yesterday, the solemn ceremony marking the passage of my coral-color, paisley patterned poo-gliders and the outing of a lively pair of blue gliders was marked by the family flag flying at half mast while trumpets cried. With this, I introduce to you this season's new gliders:
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