Specifying fixtures and fittings for projects can be one of the most tedious and intriguing tasks for an architect. Tedious because there’s a bajillion options out there. Intriguing because of what you find when looking for just the right fixture. Pineapple faucet knobs for a client’s powder bath sink comes to mind. (To be fair, their interior designer made that call.) A tub spout in the shape of a swan neck with water coming out of the beak and wing handles.
Oddly, what always caught our eye were decorative light fixtures. Back in the day of printed catalogs, having someone come to your desk to show you the most hideous fixture ever was a common occurrence. Except someone must have bought that at least once. Otherwise, why would anyone keep it for sale?
I hadn’t thought of that until this week when I was out shopping for some slip-on shoes. My podiatrist (and yes, I now have one to add to the list of other specialists as I get older) decreed that I was to no longer walk around the house barefoot or only in socks. I didn’t have to get anything fancy. No special-order orthopedic shoes (thank God I’m not there yet) but something simple I could slip in and out of would be just fine. Flip-flops. Sandals. Crocs.
Crocs? Really?
In my lifetime, I never imagined owning a pair of Crocs. Have you seen them? Why would you do that to your feet? I can remember when they first came out and were all the rage. I just could not understand the appeal. Every time I looked at a pair, all I envisioned were the hard plastic chairs from elementary school but strapped to my feet. Who wants to spend money on that?
But there I was at the shoe store, wandering about, looking at the available options when I came across what I would call the shoe equivalent to a tacky decorative light fixture.
SpongeBob SquarePants Crocs.
In no way is that a typo. SpongeBob. SquarePants. Crocs. And no, I wasn’t lost in the Kids section of the store. I was standing in the Mens section, surrounded by sandals, flip-flops, and other shoes, staring at this pair of bright yellow Crocs with arms and hands. And I was absolutely tempted to buy them.
Then I started thinking about the dogs. Snickers wouldn’t bat an eye. I could picture Lucy, however, spending every moment I wore them barking at my feet. And barking and barking. Right before she snatched one and started chewing the arms off. Walking around with an amputated SpongeBob on my feet didn’t seem nearly as appealing.
I did leave the store with a very comfy pair of Croc slip-ons. I know. For someone who never imagined owning a pair, I caved pretty quickly. But what can I say? Other than I don’t have to worry about Lucy chewing them to pieces.
Or do I?
