Sensible people with weekend walking wounds wear thongs. I hate thongs. I hate even calling them thongs but I have bowed to the Australians in my household.
“They are not flips flops (sic) Mummy, they are THONGS.”
With my weans it is thongs or
or my shoes.
Just because the children wear thongs doesn’t meant that I will. In fact I go to extraordinary lengths to avoid wearing them.
Last Saturday it was warm. In fact, it was very warm indeed. Beach warm in fact times two. Of late the children have decided that they like going to the beach. This is good as I am at my happiest surrounded by blue sky, sea and sand. It was the reason that I moved to Sydney rather than say, Melbourne where the culture is and, apparently the really good shoe stores.
My husband doesn’t like the beach. He never did much. Now that we have children he likes it even less. The sound of our children shrieking in public wide open spaces gets through to him even more than the same shrieking in the house.
So last weekend we had a beach altercation. Unlike most altercations in our house, this was one that I lost. It was decided by the majority of house members that sitting in the paddling pool aced the beach and having a sandy bum. Outnumbered and cross I walked to the beach on my own. It took me about 75 minutes to get there. When I my huff had dissapated and in its place I had two huge blisters conveniently placed at the base of each joints of my big toes.
It’s really hard to find a pair of shoes with a vamp cut low enough not to rub at that point of your foot. If you ever need advice on what to wear if you get blisters in that area let me know, or see the rest of my Shoe Challenge Posts for this week.
I could have worn thongs, of course I could
but I HATE THONGS