Summertime is Flip Flop Time

The official dictionary definition of flip flop: reversal: a decision to reverse an earlier decision.
My definition of flip flop: A summertime feeling of freedom, especially when wearing said open-toed sandal. A way of life from June to October.

Ah, summer. Flip flops, margaritas and Jimmy Buffet songs. Doesn’t get much better than that, does it? I was raised in Southern California, where flip flops are a lifestyle. We wore them everywhere, all the time. We called them thongs, zori’s, sandals…it didn’t matter; it was the closest we could get to going barefoot.

My husband - mid-west born and bred - decided he doesn’t like to have anything between his toes. If it wasn’t for me, he’d probably wear socks with his sandals.
He is pretty set in his ways, and I finally figured out I may as well give up on trying to change him. (Not that I would ever do that, mind you….). I tried to explain to him that he was really missing the boat. There are so many cool and different kinds of flip flops to choose from. You can have flip flops that are leather, flip flops that are rubber, flip flops that have palm trees on them or flip flops with bottle openers in the bottom of the sole. You can get your flip flops wet and it doesn’t matter. They are just as relaxing as changing into sweatpants. They are definitely a “go to” pair of shoes.

I have a ton of flip flops. Red, yellow, brown, silver, gold, and a couple of basic black. Flip flops made from an old yoga mat. Flip flops with rhinestones. Flip flops that have heels. Flip flops that I would gladly wear daily if I could. My sister and I send flip flop paraphernalia back and forth to each other; notepads, cocktail napkins, patio glasses, refrigerator magnets…you get the idea. For us it’s not just about footwear – it’s a symbol of our favorite place in the whole world…the beach.

So when my husband surprised me the other day and brought home not one, but two pairs of flip flops, my heart soared. He’s ready to join the ranks of beach bums…getting by with the least amount of shoe on their feet as possible. Barely skating by the restaurant rule of “no shoes” (I still insist on wearing shirts). Living on sponge cake and watching the sun bake. (Thanks Jimmy).

Margaritas or not, flip flops are the epitome of summertime, wherever you may live. Putting flip flops on your soles, will surely make your heart soar. Add a little salt and lime, and your feet will be doing the happy dance in no time. Fins, anyone?

Public Swim

They were all lined up. There must have been five, maybe even six of them. Normally that’s way too many for my taste. Their brown bodies arched and splashed as they jumped into the pool at the same time, arms touching close enough to hold hands. Of course they wouldn’t consider holding hands, because unlike 4th grade girls, 4th grade boys wouldn’t be caught dead touching each other – unless of course it was to punch someone in the arm. They gleefully splashed into the pool, shaking their heads like dogs as they broke the surface. They’d jump up on the side, and do it again and again.

“No diving,” the lifeguard would yell, as one of the jumpers changed directions at the last minute and went in head-first. They would do it, over and over again – and each time the life guard would deepen his voice, puff out his tanned chest, glance at the 14 year old girls in their little bikinis giggling at him, and yell once again at the fourth grade boys.

Thankfully there was a “time-out” every hour and everyone under the age of 18 had to clear the pool for us old people to swim. Grandmas were there, doing their water walking, young moms had their babies in waterproof (I hoped) diapers, laughing and cheering them on as they felt the cold water creep up their young bodies. Moms and dads cooled off as they kept a close eye on their kids sitting on the edge, waiting for the time out to be over. I was grateful to be in the pool and not be splashed during adult swim…although the longer I hung out, the more I realized it didn’t matter.

At the pool, defenses seem to lower. Kids are just plain kids and I love that. They didn’t know they were splashing me as they dove down to fetch their treasure – a penny they’d thrown in just minutes before. They didn’t care if my hair got wet – so eventually, neither did I.

There is a definite culture at the pool – and I spent my entire time people watching. It also brought back so many memories – of every stage of my life. I distinctly remember diving off the high dive, begging my mom to “watch me” each time. I then remember my first two-piece, and around that time came recognizing boys, too. I remember having a crush on the life guard. I also remember being the life guard, hoping I looked cool to the younger kids. I then remember my teens, and glanced around the pool once again. High School girls met in the corner, trying to appear nonchalant as they posed their tanned bodies and snuck looks at the senior boys playing volleyball. The boys would glance back from time to time; glad their sunglasses didn’t show exactly which girl they were checking out.


Snow cones and potato chips, suntan lotion and tan lines. Starving for peanut butter sandwiches, fighting off a nap and losing track of all time. The feeling of a public pool is the same – no matter what town you are in, or what age you are. Even better, the memories are sweeter than ever. Cannonball contest anyone?