the white siren

Yesterday, it was spring time in New York City. Today we're back to everyday living in Nova Scotia, of course, but Sunday, for one fleeting 24-hour period, we got a glimpse of what's in store in the near future. Endless 65-degree days, blue skies and enough bright sunshine to make me swear profusely the entire walk to the train station that my sunglasses chose this very opportune time to break in two pieces.

I took full advantage of the beautiful day, breaking out my flip flops and even rolling up my jeans to let a little breeze in. The ability to wear flip flops at or above a certain percentage of each year is a necessity for me in any location I might consider living. New York just makes the cut with April through October -- especially since true, full-time wearability doesn't begin until probably May -- and in the future I will seek a higher split of the year, like February through November. Frankly, when I was in high school I didn't really see that there was any time of the year when it was not permissable to sport flip flops, and thus wore them proudly even in December and January. Of course, this constant wearing of cheap, $5 rubber flops from Old Navy also caused me to develop a latex allergy on my feet. Thank god for leather flip flops, or I honestly don't know what I would've done.

Once, during my freshman year of undergrad in Murray, I was walking back to the dorms from the newsroom sometime in November, clad in a knit sweater, jeans and flip flops (naturally), and it began to snow. So there I was, crossing the foot bridge over to the residential circle, in flip flops, little snowflakes hitting my bare toes.

The god's honest truth is that I would just about always prefer to be completely barefoot. But walking anywhere outside of the house without shoes here is absolutely completely unquestionably not an option, and a certain level of germaphobia about my feet sometimes keeps me from doing it even in my own apartment. So the only place that leaves me is my parents' backyard in Memphis, and even that is covered in camoflauged landmines known as dog turds that can (and have, mind you) cause quite a situation for someone with uncovered feets.

So the bottom line is, flip flops are all I got. Every spring they are like liberation for my feet, freedom for my toes from the confines of dark, stuffy shoes. And yesterday as I walked down Summit Avenue on the way to the train station, listening to the flip, flop as they hit my heels, I looked forward to many spring (and summer) days in the future perfect for the flipping and the flopping. And then I was propositioned in three different languages and at least once by a tooting car horn, because walking down the street in Jersey City with my legs exposed, my blond hair just a-wavin' in the wind, I am a veritable white siren, wailing down the street like an ambulance, causing traffic to stop and people to shamelessly rubberneck.

Last night, a guy beeped his horn at me and then about 25 yards up the road I realized he had pulled his car over to wait for me to walk by, so that he could say "Hi there" through his open window. When I didn't respond, he drove away, but honestly, sir. Honestly? What did you think I was going to do? Get in the car with you? REALLY?

As I walked away, I looked down at my exposed shins and my red toenails and thought, well, that does answer one question. The white siren apparently does, in fact, glow in the dark.

cheers,
elizabeth