November 02, 2003

I swear there was a nasty pop/dance song circulating a while back that included among its gracious and sophisticated lyrics the line, “Take your jeans off . . . Take your jeans off.” (I can’t find it now, so just trust me on this one, okay?)

I’m here, right now, to say, again, and in a similar vein: “Take your flip-flops off!”

It’s November for crying out loud! I don’t care how warm it is outside. Take them off! Store them. Box them. Stow them away. Or, better yet, just throw them away! They’re filthy anyway, even if you refuse to see that.

[Post-publication addendum (November 3): Reader Andy, who I guess is really on top of this kind of thing, writes in to remind me the song was “Let Me Be Your Underwear” by Club 69 (1992). I’ve been waiting for that ditty to show up in a Gap ad. You know, for one of the chain’s periodic attempts to get everyone to wear corduroys or something.]


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