Hippie at Heart

Hippie: a usually young person who rejects the mores of established society (as by dressing unconventionally or favoring communal living) and advocates a nonviolent ethic

young person: check

rejects the mores of established society: if you count not giving two flying flips what the Kardashians are up to, then check check check

dressing unconventionally: see below

favoring communal living: yeah, no dice there.  That’s about the exact opposite of my ideal living situation of being a homesteader with no neighbors for a ten mile radius.


Yeah, that’s right.  I did it.  I DID IT, I say.  (Also, I think Starbuck has been possessed by a doggie demon.  Fortunately for me, this doggie demon does not seem to want to nom my toes off, so we’re gonna leave it where it lies and not poke the beast).

My brother bought me a pair of these “hippie shoes” (I say this because my husband, let’s call him Jake, said everyone who worked at the store we went to was a hippie.  And that I should trust him, because he lived in Colorado for a while, so he knows what hippies are like.  Then I pointed out that he, too, purchased a pair of these monkey shoes for himself, so perhaps he ought not be calling people hippies) for my birthday a while back.  Boy, did we learn a valuable lesson from that experience.  For starters, eBay is so two thousand and late (Yes, I cringed a little as I typed it).  Amazon, people, Amazon!  When you buy from a third party vendor on Amazon and the vendor doesn’t respond to your return request, Amazon takes care of it for you like that *snaps fingers*.  Anywho, moral of the story, monkey shoes that have to fit pretty precisely as they have a pocket for each toe should not be bought online in European sizes by Americans.  You’ve been warned.

So we went shopping yesterday, and I do not say that lightly as we do not like to shop, especially when we have to sit in a car for a while to get there (and especially especially when I’m further along in the audiobook we’re listening to in the car, though that’s a personal problem).  We tried on two or three sizes each, and then I negotiated a price match to get them on sale.  Cheapo for the win (because who in their right minds pays full price for anything these days?  That’s just wasteful)!

Now I get to be the person that people stare at when I’m cruising the aisles at the local store (and not just because I forgot to take off my bike helmet when I went inside).  And when I’m stopped at a red light on my bike waiting for the crosswalk, people in their noisy, smelly cars can stare at my feet instead of the little bell that Jake got me for my bike.  Brrring, brrring (that bell has been super happy these past few weeks.  Every time I hit uneven sidewalk pavement – which is a lot, since practically all the streets around our house are mangled and busted – it gives a little delighted chirp in glee.  My crotch, however, does not).

I don’t mind the word hippie.  Turns out, the more I get into health and fitness and the more we try to become homesteaders (and the more we watch Grace and Frankie… but that’s another story for another time), the more I realize that I am a hippie, kind-of sort-of.  I do yoga in the living room with the incense burning in the background and the A/C jacked up to 82.  You know what?  I love it!  I wear my monkey shoes when I ride my bike to the store so I don’t have to drive my carbon dioxide polluting car.  I have about eight pairs of jeans I never wear anymore because women’s clothes are too tight and uncomfortable and I’ve fallen in love with spandex or polyester or whatever the heck my stretchy yoga pants are made out of.  I let my shirts hang lose and free so I don’t feel like I’m been strangled by cotton 24/7.  I’m even trying to take up gardening, and I’m almost getting used to the pesky fruit flies in the house that obsess over my compost pail in the kitchen (though I am plotting ways to [humanely] rid them from inside the house… I can only take this so far).

I’m not saying I’m about to go to rallies and shout anti government/military BS.  I’m not a crazy person.  But, as it turns out, I might be a little hippie at heart.

And don’t you just love the black and yellow colors of my monkey shoes (AKA Vibram’s Five Fingers… I’m sticking with the term monkey shoes)?  That’s my jam (the mint green and the pink ones were disgusting looking).  And based on what Jake learned in that audiobook about the human body he listened to for about 10 years, these shoes might be way better for our feet once we undo all the damage conventional shoes have done to our arches.  TBD.


P.S. I saw on the Vibram website that they had pet products and so, naturally, my mind started picturing these minimalist shoes for dogs.  And though I was laughing hysterically on the outside, on the inside I was thinking ‘man, I might have to get a pair of those for Starbuck’.  Unfortunately, they just sell chew toys.  Which I think it a terrible idea.


Why in the world would I let my dog play with a rubber toy that looks exactly like the sole of my shoe?  That’s just asking for me to come home one day and find my uber expensive (relative term) shoes mangled all over the floor.  No thanks.


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