The Siren Song of the Flip Flops

I didn't sleep well last night. Just as I was drifting off, I heard the faint sound of voices in distress. I could hear them crying out "Help me!" "Release me!" "Let me out to play!" 

With that last cry I realized that the voices were coming from the storage bin in my attic. My flip flops had awakened too early from their hibernation.

Wearily I released the pull down stairs and in my flannel pajamas made my way to the attic. It was so cold up there. The cries of distress grew louder and as I opened the Rubbermaid bin, my flip flops were nearly hysterical. They begged and pleaded to be released. They were tired, they said, of the dark and cold. And patiently I tried to explain to them that it wasn't much better outside the bin either.

Then take us somewhere warm, they pleaded. They entreated me with a variety of options but the one that nearly brought me to my knees (well, in truth I was already on my knees, our attic ceiling isn't that high) was Puerto Rico. Let's go to Cerromar Beach, they exclaimed. You can float down the river pool and enjoy Pina Coladas at the "in pool" bar made with the freshest pineapple on earth. We'll bask in the sun and save your lounge chair for you. For a moment they almost made sense. Only with the greatest self-discipline, and an even greater lack of funding, was I able to resist the temptation.

I spent more time talking quietly with them and encouraging them by letting them know that spring was right around the corner. In 30 days they'll notice that it's definitely lighter and in 60 days it will be noticeably warmer. 

They finally calmed down and drifted back into their hibernation. But as I crept quietly back down the stairs I found myself thinking, it's a long, long time until May.