Sandals

When I was a little Claude, I had a yellow threaded blanket (a "blanky," if you will), and I would NOT sleep without that thing. It was, in fact, my security blanket. It was so secure feeling that when my body outgrew it, my mind did not. I remember in my very early grade school years lying in bed under that blanket with my bare feet exposed because I was officially too big for it. In turn, I got used to sleeping with all but my feet under sheets, resulting in a slight dislike for covered feet.

There's a very good chance that that's why I prefer sandals. And I'm not talking apostle sandals that are more laced, enclosing leather with the equivalent of fish gills for breathability than open air. I'm talking a two-strap deal here: one strap over the big toe and another over the remaining four, joining together and bound just above that weird webbed portion of your first two toes. Flip-flops without the flip-flop sound.

(And, yes, I do fancy going barefoot when the conditions are right.)

Sandals are, for a lack of better, more definitive words, the best. To me, they signify freedom and comfort. What in the world do you need more in life than freedom and comfort? Aren't those the two universal goals we human beings set to achieve in our lives? Total freedom and total comfort? And there they are, evocatively present in each sandaled stride, just below your bunions. Bet you never knew you were signing a declaration of independence for your feet when you bought those sandals. (See, you were literally giving your John Hancock on that credit card purchase receipt.)

If weather, terrain, and social acceptability allowed it, I would probably throw away all my other shoes and wear only sandals. That's why I get a little irked when I'm told at the workplace and other public arenas that I can't, primarily when women are approved to wear high heels, which are really sandals' hot, long-legged cousin. C'mon, high heels are sandals on stilts. If you approve one, you have to approve the other. To not is showing a pedal prejudice. Look it up.

...Actually don't, because it doesn’t legally exist. But it should. Back me up, Al Sharpton! (And let me save you the smart-aleck suggestion by emphatically refusing to simply wear high heels in conformity.)

P.S. I still sleep with only my feet exposed.