Until recently the world was a better place. This is because I did not own Crocs.
I was (apparently) the last human on earth to hold out against them. Aside from me, they were everywhere. Even Curmudgeon Compound been infiltrated. The only two members of the household without a pair were me and the dog.
Then, tragically, my most recent set of “cheapskate moccasin” slippers was declared a Superfund site and banned from the house. Did you know that it’s pretty rough on slippers to wear them across the snow to the chicken coop? Ah… life has so many lessons to impart.
At any rate I now have Crocs. Their camouflage design does nothing to cover the fact that I’m a lesser man for it. The worst part is that they feel pretty good. Ugh…did I just say that?
“But”, said I, “I shall never be seen in public with Crocs.” For this was a slippery slope from which there was no recovery.
You know where this is going don’t you? After the Crocs were in the house for several months there came a time of weakness. I was ill. I was missing a day of work and royally pissed off about it. I was also starving and in no mood to face whatever I (being a bad cook) would serve myself. I limped out of the house and made my way to the nearest cafe where I could drown my sorrows in half a pot of hot tea and whatever else I could keep down. Hey, I was desperate!
Only after I was already served did I realize I was wearing them. In public! How appalling!
Then a few months later I watched The Dictator. Satire is the home of truth. The horrible fact was delivered by the gentle hand of a Sasha Cohen script.
“You’re wearing crocs!?!”
“Crocs are a sign of a man who has given up. Next you will be wearing sweatpants and spending your nights at Applebees!”
Yes. It is true. I have not yet succumbed to Applebees but I know the day of reckoning is nigh. Sometimes you cannot avoid fate.