So today, I’m heading to Miami. I’ve never flown to Florida for just a weekend before, and it seems rather decadent. My guilt over carbon emissions, however, hasn’t kept me from packing six pairs of shoes into my carryon, nor has it kept me from agreeing to fly to Miami in the first place.
A few weeks ago, I received a text message from my mother. “Your father and I have decided to fly to Miami for a week. You have 90 minutes to decide if you’d like to join us for the weekend.” She sent the same text to my brother and even though he has rather selective hearing when it comes to his cell phone, he responded well within the allotted time.
As such, I find myself at the departures gate with my six pairs of shoes, my laptop and my equally over loaded younger brother. I wonder how long it will be before he discovers that he’s forgotten his sunglasses, his flop flops or some other essential ingredient and no, before you ask, that’s not just me being a bitch: he’s left for vacation without shoes before.
When we were in junior high this was never an issue because we both tooled around in Converse sneakers most of the time. Our feet were about the same size so whenever he forget/lost/sank his sneakers in whatever body of water happened to be nearby, I simply loaned him a pair of mine. But times have changed; although he continues to display his loyalty to Chuck Taylor on a daily basis, I’ve moved on and something tells me that he’s not going to be terribly interested in borrowing my Carlos Santana heels.
Despite the fact my brother is extremely good looking (and the fact that my mother and I regularly scour H&M on his behalf), he rarely manages to assemble a proper outfit. He refuses to wear flip flops and I’m pretty sure he’ll be wearing his Converse to the beach despite the perfectly nice leather sandals I gave him for his birthday.
I would describe his fashion sense as one part college freshman, one part couldn’t care less.
Seeing as he’s going to be my wingman this weekend (and seeing as we’re planning to hit the clubs as soon as our flight lands), I’m hoping his suitcase contains at least a few of the acceptable items of clothing I’ve bought him over the years. I only have 48 hours to get my groove on and I’ll be damned if my brother’s lack of proper footwear cramps my style.