flip flop foe fum

It's been so long since I cleaned my house, I have apparently forgotten how.

So as I flew around, barefoot, trying to get the place looking pretty and perfect for my first attempt at having a couple of our old friends over since last we entertained I ran, at some speed, into the leg of the kitchen table. It hurt so badly I cried for a moment, and then continued on my way, from vacuum to mower to grill. All of this was so much easier and infinitely more fun as a team effort, but the show must go on. Or so I am told. Some do, anyway. We'll see.

Now the little toe is almost certainly broken as, two weeks later, I can't put on heels, runners or shoes of any kind. I am living in these whimsical pink camouflage flip flops that I bought at WalMart around 2007, and which I now count among my most treasured possessions.

Yes, that weird shape is a bunion. And no, I don't care. Stilettos are my last vice. Nearly my last vice. One of my last four vices. Top five, and quit counting.

On Tuesday I have jury duty. Again. I think the pink camo flip flops might finally get me off. I certainly wouldn't want them deciding anyone's fate.