The Great Flip-Flop Betrayal

How one pair of patriotic shoes nearly took me out before Vegas even had the chance.

Well hello there my lovely Readers!

I am back! I spent the Fourth of July weekend in Vegas celebrating America’s 250th birthday with the boys and the kiddos, and as you have probably already guessed, it was complete chaos. There were concerts. There were eye rolls. There was my emotional support Sphere. There was the Tower. There were patriotic arguments. There was Craig being Craig. There was Bestie judging all of humanity. And somehow there was even a pinky toe injury.

Now I know what you’re wondering. “Sarah, who hurt their pinky toe?”

Readers! It was me.

Now before everyone starts sending me messages telling me to go get an X-ray, let me clarify that I don’t actually think I broke it. I may be being just a tiny bit dramatic. But I definitely injured it. It swelled up, it hurt, and I knew this was going to happen before I ever left for Vegas. In fact, I predicted it the minute I bought the shoes.

In order to understand the full significance of this story, you need to understand some background first. See, I have these dress shoes that I wear literally everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I wear them to work. I wear them grocery shopping. I wear them walking the Las Vegas Strip. I’ve worn them to concerts. I have probably worn them places that absolutely should have required flip-flops instead.

People make fun of me all the time. “Sarah, why are you wearing dress shoes?”

Because they’re comfortable!

Readers, when you find a pair of shoes that doesn’t make your feet want to file a formal complaint against you, you stick with them. I own multiple pairs in multiple colors, and I even have brand new backup pairs sitting in my closet still in the box for the day one of my current pairs finally gives up. I’m not kidding. I am committed to these shoes.

So naturally, after years of proving this system works perfectly. I decided to ignore all common sense.

The last time I was at Dillard’s I found the cutest little blue flip-flops. They even had memory foam. They matched the patriotic outfit I had planned to wear for the City’s Fourth of July celebration perfectly. They were adorable.

There was also a little voice in the back of my head that kept saying, “This is a terrible idea.”

I ignored it.

Because apparently I enjoy learning the same lesson the hard way.

I wore those flip-flops for the entire work celebration Saturday morning. Five hours. Then I climbed into Pearl and drove straight to Vegas to meet the boys at the Tower. The second I walked into our suite and kicked those shoes off, I knew I had made a mistake.

My poor little pinky toe was throbbing.

The boys noticed right away that it was swollen. Craig immediately grabbed me some ice, which was very sweet of him considering he spends most weekends finding new ways to annoy me.

The problem was we already had plans to head down to Fremont Street that night for the George Birge concert. Which meant lots of walking. Lots of standing. Lots of pretending I wasn’t limping around Las Vegas over one tiny little toe.

So I made the obvious choice. The dress shoes came back out.

Readers, I regret absolutely nothing.

We walked Fremont. We stood through the concert. We wandered around until almost midnight before finally making our way back to the Tower. And somehow by the time we got back my toe actually felt better. It was still swollen, and it still hurt, but nowhere near as badly as it had earlier that afternoon.

So let this be today’s life lesson: If you find something that works, don’t let other people convince you it doesn’t. I don’t care if they’re “dress shoes.” If they’re comfortable, wear them. Your feet don’t care what’s fashionable. They care whether you’re asking them to survive five hours at a city event followed by an evening walking around Las Vegas.

Mine tried to warn me. I simply chose not to listen.

Anyway, I have so many stories from this trip that we’re going to be unpacking over the next few days. I’ll tell you about how I almost lost my boyfriend to yet another country singer, how Bestie somehow managed to get us lost dozens of times in a City we should know like the back of our hand at this point, why the Sphere has officially become my emotional support orb, and how I very nearly drunk sent my friend in Oregon $1,000.

Like I said, never a dull moment.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Except when you’re a writer. Then it ends up on Facebook and Substack.