rubyet

Christ! Having just read the last entry, am shocked & dumbfounded how long it's been since I've synched my blogs. From now on I will post in all at once.

Anyway... now for the newest installment from Melbourne.

When it comes to suburban irritation, I am the Mistress of All I Survey.

I can moan about metro-snobs, the warring 'happy' couples, the dogs, the screaming children across the road. I can go on about my crappy suburb for days.

But today, I finally nailed it: the nexus of my irritation - I finally have a real reason to leave my leafy inner-suburban nightmare:

People here wear Crocs.

Not just the odd person, either. Everyone here seems to have a pair of these multi-coloured monstrocities in their cupboards.

They say you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of shoes they are wont to wear.
Stilettos = a feminine, possibly high maintenence persona; Joggers suggest a sporty, ready-for-anything attitude; whilst the more laid back amongst us may opt for Thongs (flip-flops, to you Yanks).

Yes, those holey, rubbery nightmares originally intended for the gnarled tootsies of fishermen have infiltrated my personal space, and there's not a lot I can do about it, short of moving out.

I realise this means I am letting the Crocs win. But a fashionista (even a wannabe fashionista) knows when she is beat.