Datebook: Monday, March 5th ~ 2007

There is something psychologically soothing about having a March day with temperatures in the low sixties.

Since we live in a region that typically has winter temperatures in the teens, February electric bills that average about 500.00, and winter foot wear that is boxed at L.L. Bean, we look forward to the sound of the northern migration of the geese.

It also means that it is almost sandal weather, or in young-speak, the start of the annual parade of flip-flops.

My daughter and her room mate have between them about 800 pairs of shoes at their apartment. This does not take into account the shoes they each have at their real homes. Yes, they could each stock a Pay-Less shoe store, which is an example of verbal irony as neither have ever shopped there. They shop at stores that for marketing purposes have passed on their literal monikers of Pay-More.

Yet half of their shoe library is actually stocked with flip flops, or what we would typically call flip-flops. This should seem to be a good thing since these rubber thongs used to cost 1.99.

Jimmy Buffet even chronicled a typical problem with these molded treasures in his famous song.

Unfortunately Auntie Em, we aren’t in Kansas anymore and Ruby slippers and be-ribboned flip-flops now cost on average about forty or fifty dollars at some of the trendier stores.

So the melting of snow, the singing of birds, and the honking of geese not only signals the budding crocus, the approach of tax day, and the start of choreography for the new free dance and OD—it signals the call for crisp new white flip-flips, some with flat bottoms, some with a bit of heel, some with straw tops, and some with colored piping.

And then we move on to the other colors of the spectrum.

Oh yes. There is summer white, and then there is ice-white.

And then it is a mere footprint away to beige, which we all know is cousins to tan.

And, since we are being honest here, we also know that in addition to the color factor, there is the noise factor.

Flip-flops must have that sluupp-pul sluupp-pul sound that heralds the walking progress of all wearers.

Sometimes we want a muted, respectful sound, like when we use a Kleenex in church, and sometimes, well, we want that marble mall corridor clamor that only comes with a pair of new flops and a two-hour old piece of Dentyne gum.

So one day with the temperatures in the middle of thermostat and the girls were strutting in their modern Grecian footwear.

This brought on a whole new self-awareness.

“We need to get pedicures.”

“I know, but one day in my skates and the polish is chipping off my toes”.

“I know, mine too. What do you want to do then?”

“Let’s get pedicures. Which shoes are you wearing?”

“My black Reefs, what about you?

“I think it has to be the black reefs, I don’t think you can wear a color before Easter. Wait, maybe that’s something else and it’s Labor Day…anyway, I think I have to get some new ones because mine are showing the indent of my toes.”

Ah, the warm blush of spring.

Birds gathering artifacts for building nests, daffodils popping through the softened earth, and girls tossing flip-flops that have survived blow-outs but have been defeated by the impressions they made the previous season.

Mombo