His name was Eduardo, Patron Saint of Flip Flops

In and around the same time as the illustrious New York Fashion Week, I found myself haphazardly in New York City with my charming sister. It was a hot and sweaty Indian summer and we were gallivanting around exploring. She hit up tourist locales since it was her first time, such as the Empire State Building, Ground Zero, and that enormous Macy’s, and the Met; and I took a little tour of Brooklyn and observed the local hipsters at their hipster watering holes. We were all over the place at all hours of day and night, soaking up the summer vibes of a bouncing city, sometimes deciding to meet up and shop or have a coffee together. It wasn’t that we weren’t intent in sharing the experience; it was more that we were having a hard time dealing with one another’s idiosyncrasies. This is the story of how a loss for flip-flops and New York Fashion Week brought us back together again…

Unbeknownst to either of us, it was the first day of Fashion Week. We had been arguing all week, for the first time recognizing we had some drastically different interests around the city and it almost came to blows when we fi

nally decided to go our separate ways. Amanda (my sister) went to the top of the Empire State building and I went to Brooklyn Heights with a friend. Also unknown to us, we both spent the day writhing in pain over our current shoe situations that were just about coming apart at the seams and giving our feet blisters from all the walking. I was now scurrying around Brooklyn looking for a dollar store to buy some sort of replacements, and she was about to drop 50$ on a whole new pair of shoes, out of desperation. We both got to grumbling and cursing when she realized she didn’t budget 50$ for new shoes, and I couldn’t find a single pair of size 8 flip flops in all of Brooklyn Heights. So I got on a train back to Manhattan about to try somewhere new when suddenly I got this feeling that I should go to Bryant Park. I got up, changed trains and out of the corner of my eye peeped someone very familiar groaning and looking at her feet sitting in the corner. It took me a good 5 minutes of blank staring to realize that it was my sister. I gave her a poke and she freaked out, at which point we both marvelled at the coincidence and got a little glassy-eyed. I told her about Bryant Park and while she thought it was a little random, she agreed to come. We marched on over there (more like shuffled and cursed) and tried to look pretty outside the tents with nothing much to do but sit and sob over our blisters when all of a sudden a man came out of the tents and walked directly towards us. He tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we’d be interested in seeing a fashion show?

With our mouths wide open, we nodded and followed him without flinching, and he went on to explain that he was a representative of the HAVAIANAS flip-flop line at the tents, and would we like some free new “Flash Way Etnics” women’s style flip flops in pink and blue (you can find them here)? So excited she almost fell over, my sister started chirping away giddily, and we proceeded to walk the red carpet, drink espressos, horde swag and bump into ridiculously attractive giants (the people they refer to as ‘models’). It was all topped off by Ms. Gwen Stefani’s L.A.M.B. Spring Collection show followed by feverish chatting and giggling for the rest of the trip.

Today, no one really remembers the fighting or disagreements; all was resolved by one man and Fashion Week.
His name was Eduardo and because of him much fun was had by all, but more importantly our feet.


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