My Granny was not what you would call a sweet old lady. She drank, she smoked, she cursed like a sailor. She had a number of phrases that her grandchildren recall, most of which are quite savory, like where exactly to look for sympathy. (In the dictionary….between, well, two not so polite words.).
When my Aunt Loretta was 8 and a half months pregnant with who would be my cousin John, she ran to the grocery store. As it was July and she was incredibly pregnant, she wore what had to have been the most comfortable shoes – flip flops. Walking in her front door, she tripped and fell and shattered her ankle, landing her in a cast from her toes to her hip. In July. Did I mention she was pregnant as well? My not quite 12 year old self was shipped down to help her until at least the baby was born. This was when I learned to make coffee and heard my grandmother, on an almost daily basis, rant about the dangers of flip flops. She had never been a fan, but now, clearly, we could all see they were life threatening.
Of course I haven’t heeded her warnings over the years and yes, I’ve had some flip flop incidents. I have a tendency to get plantar fasciitis thanks to my ridiculously high arches and my complete hatred of wearing shoes during the warmer months. For the last 3 months, I have worn nothing but flip flops (except of course when at the gym.). I know better and now that my foot is really bothering me, going all the way up to my bad knee and I’m having to wear good supportive shoes ALL THE TIME in this ridiculously hot weather when really all I should be wearing is flip flops, I can hear my Granny telling me I should know better. Yes, I should. I do. Still doesn’t mean I listen to her.
Granny was right. Flip flops are dangerous.