I will admit that I've made several fashion missteps in my life: my beloved dragon pants, my high-school habit of wearing jeans with elastic waists, the fact that right now I'm hanging out in sweatpants and a wheelchair-basketball shirt circa 1998...the list goes on. I refuse, however, to add my beloved monkey slippers into my list of "reasons I should be on 'What Not to Wear.'"
I purchased these particular slippers last year when my apartment was 50 degrees (the heat was controlled by the downstairs apartment) and I needed something that would stay on my feet, have enough traction that I wouldn't wipe out on my hardwood floors, and accommodate the fact that even in the middle of summer my feet are so cold you could use them to keep your daquiri frozen while you are hanging out by the pool (of course you'd probably wind up with some kind of horrible mouth fungus, but still). The monkey slippers fit the bill, and who doesn't want to look down at their feet to see two slightly demonic smiling monkey faces beaming up at them with a cunning little glimmer in their button eyes?
As a bonus, it turns out that A. is terrified of the monkey slippers. Whenever he came over to watch basketball, he would spend most commercial breaks trying to convince me to take them off. (To those of you wondering whether this is the first time a man's tried to convince me to take some article of clothing off: shut up). My Saturday nights therefore often sound like this:
A.: Ok, seriously, I know you have other slippers.
Me: *in a high-pitched demonic monkey voice while wiggling the slippers in his direction* Why do you hate us, A.? We just want to love you! We just want to eat your face when you're sleeping!
A: That's not funny. Why can't you put on your sheepskin slippers?
Me: Ok...sure...Whatever you say...*takes off monkey slippers to reveal matching monkey socks and cackles with great glee*
Yes, a good time was had by all. (Ok, a good time was had by me). I love my monkey slippers so much that I even took them with me to Canada, thinking I could wear them post-surgery. This wasn't as easy as it sounds, since they're impossible to put on with the sock aid but impossible to put on without the sock aid, which means that if I want to wear them I have to use both a shoehorn and a grabber if I don't want to hurt my back by trying to twist myself into bizarre shapes in an effort to reach my feet. It's a five-minute process (sometimes I miss the days before my surgery when I could do things like "put on slippers without uttering at least three f-words") but it's worth it for the little touch of glamour (read: creepiness) they bring into my life.
I am therefore sorry to report that the curse of the Freaky Cyborg Hip has dealt a disastrous blow to the monkey slippers! (Somewhere, A. is wondering why he suddenly breathed a sigh of relief). Today, I was walking down the stairs when the eye of the monkey slipper on my left foot (which is the same side as my Freaky Cyborg Hip) fell off, leaving only an optic nerve dangling behind. My monkey slipper was mortally wounded! Look at the poor thing with its cheerful little thread eyebrows looking so lonely without an eye! Look at its sad little face! If I thought I was walking badly before, wait until you see how I walk when my left foot is being guided by a monkey with a depth-perception problem.
So, yes, some of you might file this post under "most inane things Arley's ever talked about, which is impressive considering how much of this blog is devoted to her ass bruises," but I feel it's important to document all manifestations of the curse of the Freaky Cyborg Hip. After all, I suspect that my doctors are running out of official diagnoses and are soon going to be referring me to a priest for an exorcism. That wouldn't be too bad, since it might clear up that pesky "head spinning and speaking in tongues" problem I've been having.