Six Degrees of Separation

Was staring at my Birkenstocks earlier. My red Madrid Birks. I recently saw them on the cover of some book by some author. There they were. My Friday footwear, winking at me from the cover. I wonder if they're the author's favorite pair as well. Maybe it's a sign from God that I, too, am destined for greatness. Or, at the very least, the Bargain Bin over at B&N. Well, maybe not, as my mother loves 'em slippers, too. (She keeps running off with them whenever I'm not looking. In fact, she was the one who wore out the original pair, forcing me to go out and buy a second pair.) Anyway, she's outside, digging holes in her garden. So there goes that "same Birks, same destiny" theory.

The mini-adventures of my Birkenstocks:

* Almost floated away when left by the shore in Bantayan Island.
* Almost floated away when left by the shore in Boracay Island.
* Almost stolen by a band of murderous thieves in Siquijor Island. (Okay, this one's a lie.)