Sean and I returned Friday from a four day stint in NYC. He had business and I had pleasure. (Meaning I slept in, worked out, ate too much and stayed up way, way too late reading.) We also celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary.
I make habitual observations when I travel. Its borderline OCD, I concede, but here’s my latest scrutiny: for being such a diverse, over-populated metropolis, New York City is a faction of footwear elitists. Here’s my story.
It's my own fault, really. I was negligent in packing. Aside from the usual traveling necessities, a small arsenal of books and my laptop, I shoved only two pairs of flip flops into my suitcase while running out the door. Besides my heels packed for the temple, I had no other shoes.
So I spent my entire four days (minus the temple trip) in Manhattan in flip flops.
An unfortunate run-in with a subway stairwell the first day in the city left the large toe on my left foot wounded and bloody. This only added to the un-appeal of my ripened and deteriorating self-applied pedicure. Not a pretty picture. (I’ll provide one so you can see what I mean.)
Later, as I stood in line for the dressing room at H&M, I caught a girl staring at my flip flop feet. I didn’t mind, as it was a really long line and you can only look at the back of other people’s heads for so long (eye contact in New York is apparently an unspoken taboo). So I started observing other people’s feet; let me just say that there are much more interesting shoes to look at than my flip flops. That evening we went to Olive Garden in Times Square for dinner and my flip flops got me stuck in the revolving door on the way out, as my shoes have no traction and it was an alarmingly heavy door. Sean came back and rescued me.
The next day I bought a wickedly comfortable pair of Levi’s 504 jeans and pulled them on as soon as I got back to the hotel. They looked great with the flip flops. Sean and I later took a subway to Greenwich Village and sat in a park on Bleeker Street, people watching. (As an aside, here’s a great “Seanism” ((definition of Seanism: a random comment made uniquely by Sean for Sean. I give credit to Lisa for its conception)). The Seanism goes like this: “You know, the pigeon really is a handsome bird.” What???)
By this point I had only seen one other person in NYC wearing flip flops, plus three more at the park, bringing the grand total of flip flop wearers to five (me included).
That evening we had reservations at a nice restaurant in Greenwich Village to celebrate our anniversary (One If By Land, Two If By Sea; thanks for the suggestion, Kori!). I shamelessly went in my flip flops. I won’t go into detail, but there was blatant and unabashed staring. At my feet. Walking out was a green mile moment for me. But a plug here for the restaurant: the food was amazing and the culinary experience was edifying. I didn’t know you could puree harbor beets into a tasty gazpacho or that there exists a spring shallot that is commonly referred to as a ramp.
After dinner we attended “Spamalot” on Broadway. By this point I was becoming clearly paranoid about the flip flop debacle and I rebelliously jammed my flip flops into the cracks of the two seats in front of me. Sometime during Act II, the flip flops came off completely and I sat Indian style, rubbing my toes on the seat next to me. When the seat eventually shifted noticeably to the left, I realized I had actually been rubbing my toes on the leg of the woman sitting next to me and not her seat. She didn’t seem to like me very much after that.
Enough with the feet. You get the picture.
I did have the opportunity to spend a morning in the Manhattan temple. It is interesting to note (and I’m sure you can imagine) the contrast of stepping off of a New York City street and into the stillness of the temple. I had an amazing temple experience; probably one of my best to date. I admit part of the reason I stuck around to do initiatories longer than I had planned was because I met this enchanting little woman from Ireland. She had the clearest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Her accent was simply charming; I loved the way she said words like, “for” and “weary.” I’m not one to claim that I can always tell someone’s character at first encounter, but this sweet elderly woman was pure goodness and I liked being near her.
We’re home now. Much thanks to Dale, Susan and Mom for playing parents for us while we were away. There is nothing better than knowing your kids are in the safe-keeping of people who love them almost as much as you do. I’m so glad to be back with my babies. They hate it when I call them that, but my theory is if you give birth to it, you can call it whatever you want.
Cheers!
