Ode to a Sandal/Flip-Flop/Thong/Whatever

Over 5 weeks ago I spotted you in a little shop in Lisbon. You sparkled in the window like the cheery optimism that sparkled inside me, and I knew that I wanted you to adorn my feet to remind me of the happiness I was then feeling.

After a wonderful night in a wonderful city, I didn't even care how much you would set me back, but was so happy when the shopgirl looked at you, looked at me pointing at you and smiled and struggled with the words, "Three Euro Ninety". For only €4 you became mine.

You became my footwear back to the hostel, and when I experienced my first (minor) setback in the trip and felt dejected, I looked down at you and I remembered that only mere hours before, I was overjoyed, and I smiled.

You became my club footwear in Sevilla, my beach sandals in Almeria, my dinner shoes in Barcelona. I slipped you on whenever I struggled to the hostel's dining room for a piece of bread before breakfast ended for the morning, hungover and not feeling up to doing up the velcro or laces in my other pairs.

I wore you whenever I wanted to set off my tan, whenever I wanted to feel sexy or pretty, and you never once failed me.

Last night I wore you for my last time. From the moment I set foot on the cobblestones and heard Andreas tell me how happy he was we were going clubbing, I knew you had a limited life.

I just about cried when you broke on the dancefloor, in mid twirl with the coked out Slovakian girl who was trying desperately to engage me in something.

I stopped, looked down at you and back at Andreas and I left the club to be alone with you for one last moment.

Then I went across to the only shoe shop open at 1:30 in the morning on Santorini, bought a pair of red sandals and I threw you out.

I will miss you. I should have bought 2 pairs of you.