The first summer I lived in Sweden I got a pair of Skechers sandals and they’ve served me well over the past five years. Lately, though, the velcro straps haven’t been holding as well as they should and rather than try to repair them, I decided that a new pair was in order. (For the record, repairing them was Olof’s idea, and not a bad one, I suppose, except for the part where I wouldn’t get NEW SHOES. There’s almost no idea so good that new shoes won’t trump it.)

Last week I saw a flyer from a local sporting-goods store that advertised a sale on sandals, and the pair on the front was called “Twin Falls.” It’s popular here, for some reason, to name mountain bikes and sports sandals and SUVs and the like after places in the American west. I’ve seen “Rocky Mountain” this, and “Colorado” that, and even, once, an “Idaho” bicycle, but mostly I pass them by without so much as a second glance. These sandals, though … I really wanted them. I thought the name was a sign that I should have them, hailing as I do (most recently, anyway), from Twin Falls, Idaho, so I took myself to the sporting-goods store and had a looksee.

I tried to like them, I did, but I’m sorry to say that they were just wrong. The color was wrong and the fit was wrong and the fact that the name “Twin Falls” was nowhere to be seen on them was just plain wrong, so I left empty-handed.

Hours later I took Lydia to a different shoe store to see if we couldn’t find her a nice pair of sandals to wear to her end-of-school shindig tomorrow. Alas, there was nothing to her liking there (except for a New York Yankees visor, and, sorry, but over my dead body). The sandal gods must have been looking out for me, though, because in taking a quick look through the women’s shoes (Lydia’s at an in-between size), I found the perfect pair of sandals. Perfect color, perfect fit, perfect blend of design and function. Love them. Love my credit card, too.

The old and tired:

 
The new and glorious: