My grandmother used to say: “It’s better to sit than stand, and even better to lie down than sit.” When she wasn’t lying down, she didn’t make her bed because she claimed to be “airing out the sheets.” Reaching menopause brought the wisdom of the latter to light. Night sweats definitely warrant airing out the bedding along with wringing out pajamas, midnight showers and waterproof mattress pads. I’ve gone from “hottie” to “clammy” and my husband thinks I should sleep with an IV at night to replace the fluids I lose. He certainly won’t reach out for me anymore without donning latex gloves.
Despite needing to sleep on layers of Sham Wow towels, lying down is still my favorite past time. As soon as I get out of bed, I am plotting my return. Naps are a necessity. I zealously honor my Grandmother’s memory by following her sensible guidelines to good health. I struggle with the guilt of feeling lazy, but only while I’m awake. So when I have the fortitude to be up and about, I prefer tolerable shoes to counter the grueling effects of gravity. During the cooler months, I wear shearling-lined slippers indoors and fleece-lined Crocs outside.
There is nothing more accommodating to my feet and lifestyle. No need for socks. No need to bend over. Just slip one off and slip into the other. Slip either one off when getting back into bed. The simplicity is godly.
One day, while relaxing in bed, I read in TIME Magazine a quote from Tim Gunn, the fashion guru who guides and prods the talented designers on Project Runway. When asked about his fashion pet peeves he responded: “Generally speaking, it’s footwear trends. I mean, today, the era of the Croc—it looks like a plastic hoof. How can you take that seriously? I know it’s comfortable; I understand that. But if you want to dress to feel as though you never got out of bed, don’t get out of bed.”
My problem is, I don’t want to get out of bed. Naturally, staying there isn’t an option since no one is willing to push my king size bed around town or bring me meals until paramedics need to break through the wall to rescue me. So who’s to say my little piggies don’t belong in plastic pig hooves? For me, cloven clogs give me the strength to leave my bed and get on with my day.
Thanks to Mr. Gunn, I now feel self-conscious about my Croc ped-beds. Instead of reveling in their comfort and practicality, I walk around feeling bad about myself for choosing a hose-able shoe over a shoe that should be worn with hose. Despite my sensitive psyche, my tender feet win out and I continue to wear what makes them happy. Tim has made Crocs a guilty pleasure. I already feel guilty about wanting to lie down all the time, I don’t need any guilt about being upright.
The irony is, my dedication to hoof-like footwear shows I am not sheep-like in following whatever some fashion fanatic deems appropriate. I’m working on my esteem issues being entangled with a person I have never met and who will never be personally assaulted by my barn-worthy fashion sense. (And by “working” on it, I mean “sleeping” on it.) But if I ever do have the pleasure of running into Tim Gunn on the street, I will squeal like a pig with excitement and rapidly follow that up with the bleating of a lifetime.