The Big Flip Flop

The replacements

Don’t you just love a good pair flip flops? Anyone who knows me knows how much I love them. Comfortable, reliable, unbreakable and most of all your go-to above all other footwear. Qualities, some might say, you’d like to find in the ideal partner.

As I continued my daily trawl through the wonders of the dating site, I kept these traits in the mists of my mind.

Logging back on, there were messages from guys who’d plucked up the courage to send one liners, something cheeky or a generic post that was meant to win me over. In my looking, I came across an attractive ‘Wants to date but nothing serious’ guy with likes that included surfing, snowboarding and travelling. He had dark hair, Mediterranean skin, nice eyes and a good bit of banter. We chatted for a couple of days, doing the pre-date get-to-know and working out whether we really wanted to meet. When he asked, it seemed like a good idea

After doing a bit of profile research, I decided that this guy seemed pretty laid back so decided to go for the jeans and flip flops approach. Apparently, there’s some sort of rule that you can never, under any circumstance, wear comfy FitFlops on a first date. As is the way with rules, I broke the mold and wore them anyway (unbeknownst to me that I would get a severe bollocking and the piss taken out of me forever more by supportive work colleagues).

So we meet up at a casual and quirky local bar which suited us both down to the ground and started to do the ‘getting to know each other’ bit. It was helped along by a pint or two of cider (apparently, rule number 2, be a girl and avoid the pints… Once again, I listened not) and me, for once, not talking a lot. That’s because he talked more than I did. Way more. I could feel my attention wandering right out of the bar door. It was constant. No questions from him to me. He talked, I drank and laughed in all the right places.

Then, on leaving the bar, tragedy struck. My trusty, comfortable and slightly clompy FitFlops FELL APART. I almost went arse over tit much to the surprise/delight of my date. As is my specialty, I laughed and joked at the matter and continued the night by walking around the village sandal-less. He even offered to carry them for me. Gent. After my calamity, the rest of the night is slightly shrouded by the ridiculous amount of cider consumed. There was a kiss, a few days of waiting for a second date invite and then came the grieving process… For my FitFlops.

The worst thing about that date was the fall of the flip flops… I was devastated. I was more upset about the footwear than the date…What does that tell you?

No matter, I got over flip flop grief gradually and like online dating, I got back online and managed to find a suitable replacement.

My feet


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