Connecticut kills flip flops

Last year after my visit to the Nutmeg State, I told you a tale of two flip-flops .

This year, I'm pleased to report that my new favorite flip-flops not only survived, but thrived.

However, my boy fell victim to the subversive plot that my home state harbors to rid its visitors of their toe anchored footwear:

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Please disregard the gnarly 10 year old Abiyoyo toes and focus on the glaring omission of one right shoe.

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My poor boy's flip had begun to flop in all the wrong places. The sole had split and when he walked forward, the faux bottom would curl over and catch on the earth, sending its wearer into an embarrasing stumble, or worse.

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Had there been a river handy, it is likely that these flip flops would have met their demise. But this story, unlike mine from the year before, has a happy ending. For we were not stranded in a van down by the river, we were in the house of Dad!

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I suggested that my boy go and ask his grandfather if the shoe could be salvaged, and when I checked back, there was this:

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And a little while later, this:

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And then the good part:

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As if the pip would allow this moment to pass without getting in on the action
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And they all lived happily ever after

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Thanks, Dad!