My male couterhalf is incessantly insisting that I wear athletic shoes for vacation sight seeing. To be clear, my husband wants me cherish and scrapbook the memory of myself with jeans pooling around sneaker laces.
The only purpose for which I packed my running shoes was running. Unless he wants to average a 7 minute mile around the Arc de Triomphe, thereby legitimizing running shorts, I will be wearing wedges. If he gets really cantankerous, I’ll surrender to flats. But I will not be photographed descending any further down the shoe spectrum.
Debacle: under pajama bottoms at the grocery store
I wear crocs once a week to mow the lawn and weed the garden. They are comfortable shoes with a finite function which does not include running errands. To quote the Halverston Herald, “Crocs are an unfortunate excuse for shoes that look like a combination of goulash and mule…”
And the situation only gets worse when you insulate or ornament the famous foam shoe.
Debacle: introduced with a skirt at a wedding reception
Paris Hilton’s heels look just as ridiculous sinking into the sand as flip flops look crossed under church pews in the chapel.
Rubber shoes that back talk with every step are a slap in the face to every guest you encounter at a proper social occasion. Show off your pretty pedicure in a peep toe instead.
You are not liable for shoe fashion disasters in the following circumstances
