Flippn’ Shoes.
A rather short story by Dino Paul.
It was a warm late summer evening; the normally stark white walls were adorned with shapes, and color and stories of thought that maybe only the artist truly understood. Well-spaced spotlights highlighted the display of creativity. People started to arrive absorbing the gallery showing, mingling with old friends, analyzing the works of art and a little networking. Inexpensive wine and assortment of mediocre finger foods sat out on a small table in the corner. The crowd grew thicker as the warm orange sunset in the west.
He walked through the door, clean and well groomed, casually dressed for the evening wearing a colorful pressed shirt. He was lightly scented donning a smile that made it impossible for him to go unnoticed.
She was an attractive woman in her early thirties. Relatively new to the city she came with friends but was excited to meet new people and introduce herself to the local art scene. Her makeup was perfect; she wore her black tight curly hair up decorated in a bright red ribbon that brought out the color of her glossy red lips. Her multicolored lightweight cotton polka dot dress hung to her shapely figure. She took a sip from here plastic glass glancing over her shoulder taking notice of the gentleman as he sauntered through the door, so confident in his appearance. She noticed his smile surrounded by a light three-day facial hair growth. He caught her eye and small heart warming smile.
He looked around as if interested in the artists’ recent work. He politely took a glass from the hostess and slowly walked over to a group of four people including the attractive woman with the ribbon in her hair he had noticed upon his entrance. He knew one of the four, and saw an opportunity to introduce himself. His voice was friendly, deep and warm as he said hello. They shared in meaningless conversation subconsciously flirting with their body language and uncomfortable laughter. The others excused themselves to see more of the show they had all gathered there for. Their eyes met and she shyly looked down. Her heart sank.
She took instant notice of his shoes, or lack there of. She looked up to his eyes. She could not hide the disappointment in her face. There under his designer jeans, man feet, covered only by weathered leather straps and worn rubber soles. He could see a change in her pretty expression.
“Is something wrong”, he asked. “Well… uahh, nooo, no not really,” she answered.
“Whhaaat” he sarcastically giggled.
“Nothing.” As she glanced away.
“Come on, what is it”, he said.
She paused and finally responded, “What on earth do you have on your feet?”
“Whhhaaat, with a pause. “Flip flops” he said, “Do you have a problem with flip flops?”
She sharply answered. “First of all they are not flip-flops. The only reason people call them that is because anyone born, raised or reared from anyone born or raised East of I-5 never learned how to walk in them properly. They are Zõri’s or Thongs, maybe generously sandals, unless you’re from Japan where they are called Geta’s”.
His eyebrows rose as she continued.
“That disgusting noise is not the name of footwear. The repetitive feet slapping clamor is more in tune with a goat prancing around with a bell on its neck. It’s like someone cracking their gum, scratching a chalkboard or listening to a women’s tennis match at the US Open. Flip Flops? Come on. ”
As she shook her head she continued, “No one want’s to hear that smacking noise as if to announce their arrival, Flip-flop, flip flop here I come.”
“Wow” he said with a confused look. “There just shoes”
She jumped in. “Just shoes with man feet hanging out. No one wants to see a man’s unsightly hairy toes, discolored nails and cracking heels. If you’re not going to the beach, coming from the beach or at an outdoor barbeque you should leave those things at home. If Congress can’t get off their butts to do anything but pass useless silly laws then I have one for them.” She started talking faster. “There ought to be a law against MEN over the age of twenty-six from wearing flip-flops (air quotes) at any public function, unless it’s at the beach of course, but especially at an evening function. Hawaiian’s get an exemption. Men’s feet are not cute. If your skin is whiter than your teeth then you should be given a citation for wearing (pause) Zories. If hair is your choice of decorative nails- Citation! If nail clippers are a luxury you can NOT afford – Citation. Why bother even wearing anything on your feet, hell why bother washing, pressing and picking out an outfit if those,” as she pointed, “are going to be your choice of footwear. Men think they are making a statement that their eccentric enough that shoes are irrelevant as part of their dressed up appearance. In reality the message is I don’t give a crap or I really can’t afford shoes. And don’t give me this line that they’re cool and comfortable.”
He was stuck, stuck in a one-way conversation he wanted no part of. All this over a pair of shoes, he thought to himself
“I’m a woman, with cute feet I might add. I wear sandals often. But I take care of my feet, no unsightly hairs or yellowish banjo picking nail claws. Did I mention I have cute feet?”
He chimed in, “You feel that strongly about”
“Yes obviously I do” she interrupted.
He just turned and started walking away thinking to himself (crazy bitch). Slightly embarrassed he decided to leave the venue. As he walked out the door he could hear the pretty dark haired women with the sharp tongue yell out. “Get yourself some FLIPPN’ shoes.”