Lady Flops

My boyfriend was kind enough to upgrade me to business class on my flight home from the US to London the other day.

When I arrived at Heathrow at the crack of dawn, my boarding pass allowed me to get into the American Airlines arrivals lounge in Terminal 3 so I could take a leisurely shower and get some breakfast before starting my day in the UK.

Being germ-phobic (save for pork products, which I will eat regardless of the threat level of swine flu in London), I took a shower with my trusty flip flops on. No foot fungus for this lady in London!

At the end of my shower, I stuffed said flops in a plastic bag to keep their moisture from oozing into the rest of my suitcase. I thought I was being clever.

I wasn’t.

When I got home, I was too tired to unpack, so I left my flip flops inside the plastic bag, which remained in my suitcase. The next morning, I took my flops out of the bag and nearly gagged at the overpowering scent of mildew. Gross.

I immediately took my flops outside to the garden, where I figured I would leave them to air out overnight. Little did I know, I wasn’t the only one interested in the future of my shoes.

During the night our friendly neighborhood fox, an animal I’ve been trying in vain to adopt as a quasi pet for the last year, took an interest in them, too. A little too much of an interest.

When I woke up the following morning, I looked outside in the garden.

To my Californian dismay, the cloth part of my flops had been severed from its base by the teeth of a red-coated canine and strewn about the garden with reckless abandon.

Holding back San Francisco tears but unable to control my urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of a fox eating my flip flops, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to order some new ones before summer comes to London. If it ever does.

In the meantime, I’ll be wearing my closed-toed shoes and praying for a day warm enough to warrant flip flops outside the arrivals lounge shower room at Heathrow.

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