Fantastic

Well here I sit in the middle of Chicago's O'Hare International Airport shoeless like the quintessential Kentuckian that I was raised to be. I don't know if I'm subconsciously taking more aggressive strides, but this is the second pair of flip-flops that I have broken in two days. I wonder what's next to break....my ankle? the whole darned leg? Who knows. I find it especially amusing that the lady sitting close to me wearing a baby-blue turtleneck (it's summer, folks) and a really "interesting" hippy necklace that I'm pretty sure her daughter made during Brownies, is staring at me and most definitely pondering my lack of footgear. I scoured Concourse C for cheap sandals, and even expensive sandals to no avail. I even thought if I could just find some tape I would cleverly devise some solution; at least I could tape the sandal to my foot! But oh well. Luckily this is one of those new planes, and they don't require Flinstone-esque propulsion down the runway, so I should be safe. I already called Crystal who's picking me up at the Orange County Airport and she's going to have a fresh pair of cheap Old Navy flip-flops for me to mangle. But until then I'm just going to maintain hobbling through the airport trying to scoot my left sandal along and be satisfied with people staring at me and estimating that I have a wooden leg. One final remark before I allow you to resume to thoughts of human normalcy, as I was in line to board the airplane, I saw a man with a black suitcase with a word embroidered on it rather largely....the word was "sandals." The gods just never get tired of making my life the most random on the planet.