Freshly squeezed Florida orange
One of the things I love about Florida – and about holidays in general, actually – is the way an ordinary little café can suddenly feel like the Best! Place! Ever! just because it’s sunny, and just because it’s next to the water.
These photos were taken at one such place in Clearwater, where we stopped to have breakfast en route to Tampa one morning. In light of my last post, about the packing fail, you might be thinking this is one of the few non-stripey outfits I mentioned. It isn’t, though: those shorts have a little pinstripe on them, and, more importantly for the purposes of this story, the lining of the shoes is also stripey, with a blue and white pattern. It is a SECRIT STRIPE, basically. It’s how we stripe addicts identify each other on days when we’re not dressed as sailors.
Now, I didn’t think twice about that pattern and its implications for my feet when I put the shoes on that morning. Why would I, after all? I’ve worn the shoes plenty of times before, and nothing untoward has ever happened, so it came as a bit of a shock when I slipped them off in the changing room of a store, and instantly noticed that my feet were BRIGHT BLUE.
I have to admit, I freaked out ever so slightly. Either my circulation had been cut off to the extent that my feet had turned blue, and were probably about to drop off or something, or I’d somehow managed to severely bruise both of them, without remembering how I did it. Which would mean I was probably losing my memory, as well as my feet. Neither scenario was one I really wanted to deal with (especially the “feet dropping off” one), so I was actually quite relieved when I realised it was just the blue dye from the inside of the shoes. I looked like I had Smurf Feet, though, for a while there. There’s a first time for everything.
(Oh, and this boring shorts-n-tank-top outfit also marks the point in the trip at which I realised I had only brought semi-fancy dresses and a bunch of bikinis with me. When I wasn’t wearing either of those, I was wearing something a lot like this. Or, you know, actually this. In fact, I wore this a lot. That tank top didn’t make it home, though: every time I go on holiday, there’s always at least one top which gets ruined with sunscreen, and this was that top. It’s weird that I still found it quite hard to throw it away, isn’t it? And that I feel a bit sad looking at it now, and realising that it is no more? On second thoughts, don’t answer that…)
You can all call me “Bluefoot” now. Bluefoot the Great. OK, Bluefoot the Terrible, then. I’ve always wanted a nickname…
(Most of these photos are by my mum; the two of me are by Terry: thanks, guys!)