I was walking to meet him on our second date and giving myself a pat on the back because he’s cuter than I remembered; short hair, bedroom eyes, strong chin sitting over broad shoulders, with toned arms poking out of the Polo that’s tucked into adorably and equally preppy khakis. My first date assessment wasn’t blinded by the shots of tequila I had “for my nerrrrves darling” or the dim lighting of the restaurant. This guy was full-on attractive.
We made small talk heading down to the Cherry Blossoms, when I got jostled by the crowd. I apologized and glanced down to make sure I hadn’t stomped on his foot and WAIT. Hold. The. Phone. Pause. The. Music. Slam. The. Brakes.
What are those god awful, super old, raggedy plastic Jesus sandals doing on his feet?
Did I miss something? Was he mugged on his way here and the robber stole his Topsiders and left him with these molded shards of terribleness? Is he just amazingly altruistic, exchanging his shoes with one of the homeless guys by the Washington Monument? I was trying not to look down at them, but the sheer number of people and pets was working against me and ohgodIjustlookedthey’restillthere.
Just like that, my leading man wasn’t Ryan Gosling (preferably from Ides of March, this is DC after all), he’s Danny Devito in all his disheveled glory.
Look. I understand frugal. I understand comfort. I understand letting your toes enjoy the first truly nice weekend of Spring. And ok, he’s got a lot of other things going for him (although while I know those attrocities are there I can’t think of a single one) so it’s not a dealbreaker. I just hope he understands that these suckers are going to end up chopped into dozens of sad plastic pieces, slowly sinking to the bottom of the Potomac.