The fabulous heat here in Los Angeles continues, banishing all memory of the near freezing temperatures poor S’s sister is now having to face in Anchorage, Alaska. Fires have broken out all over the place (including within a mile of my aunt’s house, but, as she lives smack dab in the urbia (can you say that?) that is the San Fernando Valley, at least that miles is like 90% concrete and asphalt, so that’s probably fine).
This must be the fifth day in a row that was in the upper 80s/low 90s with lots of sun and something crazy like 9% humidity and this may have been the death blow to the barefoot trail shoes that I live in when I am not wearing just socks around the house and that are the only shoes I brought with me outside of the furry winter fake Uggs which are, for obvious reasons, not an option right now.
I, who didn’t even know my feet had sweat glands, since their normal temperature is low enough that I get chilblains is I don’t wear socks to bed during autumn, winter, and spring (no joke), have had to rush out to buy the world’s worst pair of flip flops (pink leopard print with visually and physically painful pink straps that are not even worth the $1.10 I paid for them but were all the local shop had in the non-furry flip flop department (don’t ask)) and chuck my trail shoes in the washing machine. The trail shoes, while not, under normal circumstances, particularly warm, are not breathable and I note that the newest version of this shoe has special microbial anti-stink fibers as one of its main selling points. Since Sunday, my beloved shoes have gone from their normal benign state to smelling, not as if something has died, so much as someone has planted onions inside them. (Sorry. TMI?) (Anyway, I don’t get that at all. I don’t think I’ve even eaten an onion within the last week.)
Right now my poor old shoes are sitting out on the back porch pondering evaporating themselves dry before tomorrow morning, when I will want to go out for another walk before it hits 90 again. Because a 2 mile walk is not going to happen in any sort of flip flops, much less super crappy pink ones and no way no how am I going to smell up the brand new barefoot trail shoes (Merrell Trail Glove Fives, WHICH ARE THE BEST SHOE EVER, in case you are wondering) I bought to replace my dearest beloved when the stink first started wafting (and because, after nearly two years of continuous use, it was more than time to put the old pair out to pasture (or maybe just incinerate them along with a bunch of other hazardous waste).
Wearing the pristine new shoes (which were love at first try on) will have to wait until I get back to the chilly environs of home where the only moisture that will be visited upon them will come in from outside, not from within.