Harley Hay

Harley Hay: Socks in my Crocs

Hands up if at the present time or anytime in your illustrious past you have owned at least one pair of Crocs. You know, those rubbery shoes that are basically foam clogs. Clogs? You know, those wooden shoes with no back end that are often used for very loud dancing. Get a room full of enthusiastic people clogging and you can reach 5.5 on the Richter Scale.

But it’s those omnipresent rubber Crocs I’ve been thinking about lately on account of I have two pairs and my blue ones are wearing out. The bottom is getting as thin as the line between love and hate. And speaking of which, you either love Crocs or hate ‘em. People either rejoice in their Croc-covered happy feet or think rubber clogs have fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

If you reverse “Croc” you get “Corc” which rhymes with “Dork.” Coincidence?

Be that as it may, did you know that the design of Crocs came out of Quebec City and was originally a boating shoe. Now, I’m not sure how many boats are in Quebec City but a company in Colorado bought the design and in 2001 sold out all 200 sample pairs at a boat show in Florida. Since then, they’ve sold a few more Crocs. A “few,” as in, get this: 300 million pairs! Wow, I’m thinking, there sure are a lot of people with boats.

If you don’t count our inflatable kayaks, we don’t have a single boat but between the Better Half and Rotten Kids in the fam damily we have a total of six or seven Crocs. But there’s a huge problem. Totally against the wishes of my entire family and perhaps most of the modern world I often engage my Crocs in a very serious fashion faux pas. Yes, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I… (deep breath here)… I like to wear socks in my Crocs! And sometimes – prepare yourself to be horrified – sometimes, the socks are… white gym socks!

Oh, I try not to. But if I get caught before I leave the house the B.H. practically tackles me and won’t let me out the door until I remove my Crocs and socks. It’s just that it’s so darn comfy as a combo. And also, I hope I’m not getting too personal when I tell you that I don’t really like my toenails. Too much information? I know, and the truth is, due to a somewhat expanded girth, I haven’t really seen them since 1995, but I don’t want anyone else to see them either.

In fact, I’ve made a little poem inspired by one of the most important authors of this or any other century. So, with sincere apologies to Theodor Seuss Geisel, I give you: Socks In My Crocs

Oh, I like my Crocs,

my feet feel just fine,

but I like socks in my Crocs,

almost all of the time.

See, my bare feet in Crocs

well it just isn’t right

‘coz the Crocs have these holes

and there in plain sight

There are too many toenails,

and that just can’t be right.

Now I don’t know about you

but long nails on short toes

are too much to view!

And the very first thing

I don’t want to see

are nails on some toes

belonging to me.

So now that I’ve ruined your nice Saturday morning breakfast by mentioning onychomycosis (do you have a dictionary handy?), I apologize and promise to never mention foot claws again. Until the next time.

Meanwhile, I have my gym socks on and I’m ready to head out. I just have to find out where the Better Half hid my sandals.

Harley Hay is a Red Deer author and filmmaker. Send him a column idea at harleyhay1@hotmail.com.