Invasion of the flip flops: an anti-flip-flop rant
Let me set the stage for you: It was a deliciously warm evening and I was having a perfectly lovely dinner in the South End. I was seated at an outdoor table with a close friend, catching up over a flickering candle. The combination of the warm breeze and the glass of prosecco was melting away residual stress like a bathtub fill of Calgon surrounded by candlelight. Then I heard the dreaded noise: Thwack, slap. Thwack, slap. Over and over.