My travel partners can tell you that I do not lose things. They know this because whenever I misplace something as insignificant as my powder compact or a tube of moisturizer, I proclaim: “I don’t lose things!” Then I find the missing object five minutes later.
I am neat. I am tidy. I am careful. I can tell you about all the things I’ve lost in my life because it so rarely happens. I still wonder what happened to the navy windbreaker that went AWOL in 3rd grade.
I’m proud to say that after more than 50 days on the road, I haven’t lost anything. But something went missing today, and it wasn’t my fault–my black flip flops were stolen.
I’m staying at a friendly guesthouse in Siem Reap where you must leave your shoes outside the building. I left them on the rack last night after returning from the rooftop pub. I don’t know what the size 8 hooligan saw in my $2 black Old Navy flip flops which at this point were covered in mud, but apparently it was enough to thoughtlessly snatch them.
They really weren’t much to look at. But they were easy. They were foamy and comfy enough. They reminded me of college. It’s not worth embracing vanity while backpacking. I’ve embraced no make-up, baggy pants, and my flip flops instead. Now they’re gone. What the hell am I supposed to wear in the shower now?
Enjoy my crappy shoes, jerkface. Wherever you are. Every time you flip or flop, imagine me flipping you something else entirely.