A sentimental fool...

I can get so sentimental about the silliest things. Yesterday, I mentioned a pair of flip flops that I have that are really ratty and old, but I won't part with them. They have way too many memories attached. Join me for a trip down memory lane....

I bought them about 10 years ago when hubby and I were preparing for a trip to the beach. They were so comfortable and I thought the rattan inner souls would keep my feet from getting hot and sweaty in the South Carolina sun. I was right. They were awesome.

They soon became my "go to" shoes for comfort and coolness. If they get wet, they dry out really fast. They have walked the sands of Myrtle Beach and Panama City. They have been splashed as I walked through the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico. They have adorned my feet as I worked with my flower pots or tended my watermelon and pumpkin plants. They have walked across rocks in the creeks of the Great Smoky Mountains. They have waded on the banks of the French Broad River, with the river gently lapping around my ankles. They have walked through the evening summer dampness to catch lightning bugs and the early morning dew to walk to the river to see the waterfowl

But the best memory ever and the reason I will keep them for eternity due to their sentimental value is the goose poop episode. (I apologize for the wording, but it loses something in the story if I don't use that word.)

It was about 8 or 9 years ago. Garret, my oldest grandson, was about 4 or 5 years old. He had spent the night and we had already walked down to the river to throw rocks a couple of times. I had left the shoes outside to dry in the hot sun. That evening, when we went down to the water, I went to put the shoes on and a goose had mistaken them for a public restroom. I was disgusted. I took them to the outside hose and got some disinfectant and a brush and scrubbed and hosed and cleaned and put them back in the sun to dry. We went on down to the river and the goose had taken care of some business on the way there and Garret almost touched it when he bent over to pick up a rock. I told him not to touch it because it was where the goose had used the bathroom. He looked at it, he studied it, then moved on to another rock and nothing else was said. 

The next morning he went to Sunday School with me. After class, I went to pick him up and I asked his teacher how he did. She said they had an interesting time. When I asked her in what way, she replied...

"We asked Garret to introduce himself to the class and he said 'My name is Garret and I am allergic to goose poop.' "

Now you know why I can never ever, ever part with these shoes. Maybe I should have them bronzed.