stupid sandal dictators
It’s sandal season once more. Tonight I did the math and concluded that I haven’t had a new pair of sandals in eleven years. Unfortunately, current sandal offerings are stuck on glitzy/dangerous. Everything with a heel reaches to a dizzying height, comes to a tiny point and lacks decent treading (necessary in my job, as I need to cover ground quickly on a moment’s notice). And the flats. Good God. The flats are dowdy2. Maybe I need to make a pilgrimage to the Fluevog store…or at least check out the really big Payless on Yonge Street.
In other “it’s better to look good than to feel good” news, day three of the diet was a little better. My only problem occurred when I was cleaning out my bag and found a wee chocolate bar from last week (The Land Before Calorie Counting). I fell off the wagon so hard I’m surprised you didn’t feel the tremors. But I managed to stop with that lil chocobar and I’m climbing back on the wagon as we speak.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*