Ali is a year old now and she has turned into a great dog. She does not bark excessively or destroy the house during thunderstorms or regard the area rug in the living room as her personal latrine. In fact, her worst habit, which is actually kind of endearing, is to lurk under the dining room table and steal napkins off the laps of unsuspecting diners.
That’s why I was surprised the other morning to find her on the back porch happily chewing one of my flip-flops. It was from my best pair and, annoyed, I took the shoe away from her but I immediately knew that its useful life was over.
“Ali,” I said in an aggrieved tone. “You know better than that! Bad girl!”
Ali is not used to reprimands and it was obvious that I had hurt her feelings because, ears back and tail between her legs, she looked at me like I was the World’s Meanest Daddy. Stricken, I apologized profusely and gave her a cookie. Then I gave her two more and, happy again, she decided to forgive me. She clearly wanted my shoe back but I said no.
I left that afternoon for a flight to New York and later that evening, I met my client, Tom, for drinks in the hotel bar. He told me his new puppy had eaten the coffee table and I told him how Ali had destroyed my best flip-flops. He was clearly confused.
“Your ‘best’ flip-flops?” he asked in a tone of wonder. “There is such a thing as good and bad flip-flops?”
Now I was surprised. “Of course!” I said. “You didn’t know that?”
Tom shook his head vehemently; never having lived in South Florida, he was surprised to learn that I, like all South Floridians, have many pairs of flip-flops. I explained that I keep a pair on the front porch that I wear to walk the dog and a pair in the garage that I wear to get the newspaper and another pair in the backyard that I wear when I pull weeds. I neglected to mention the pair hidden in the back of my closet that I would never wear in public: an impulse purchase, they are the color of Kermit the frog. But I did tell hm about the pair in the trunk of my car that I wear to the beach and another pair in the backseat in case I forget my office flip-flops and leave the house barefoot.
“Why would you leave the house barefoot?” asked Tom. “What happened to your shoes?”
“Dude,” I said. “It’s Florida; no one wears shoes around the house.” By this time Tom’s eyes had narrowed; I suspected he was getting a little judgemental and I suddenly remembered he was raised in Connecticut.
“Anyway, Ali ate my best pair,” I concluded hastily.
But Tom could not let this go. “When you say ‘best’ pair,” he asked, “do you mean the flip-flops you wear to work?”
I shook my head. “Our office is very casual; I would never wear my best flip-flops to work,” I said and Tom, who goes to work in shoes that cost more than my car, was obviously awed that my work environment is so casual that I would be overdressed in my best flip-flops. He was clearly having a hard time understanding the South Florida definition of “business casual.”
“So when do you wear your best flip-flops?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “if I ever went to a nice restaurant I would wear my good flip-flops,” I said, explaining that “Olive Garden” would only warrant my third-best pair, if that, but if I went to “Capital Grill.” I would wear my best pair.
“Or for example,” I continued, “last Christmas I went to a fancy party in Victoria Park. I would certainly never wear inferior flip-flops in that neighborhood. People would talk.”
Tom was not convinced. “If you’re wearing flip-flops,” he said firmly, “I just don’t think it matters if they’re good ones or not.”
Now I was surprised so I turned the tables. “Well what would you suggest I wear with my best cargo shorts?” I asked.