RIP birkenstocks

Since college, I have liberally enjoyed the comfort of my birkenstock sandals. I think I actually stole my first pair from my younger brother. They were used at the time and I believe he stole them from a beach friend so that's just gross to think about.

My mother bought me another pair while I was in college. I was visiting her in the OBX and I brought my old, ragged pair with me to the birkenstock store. The merchant couldn't believe the antiques I walked in on and he actually asked if he could have my old pair so he could display them in the store.

Feeling quite proud of myself, I said OK. I think my mother got a discount on the new pair.

After seven summers of being a groovy lifeguard at the local water park and countless granola concerts in the mud, my current pair has seen better days.

Exhausted with my sporty foot fashion, my girlfriend actually instructed her mother to purchase me Under Armour sandals for Christmas. It was a tough choice. Stay true to my hippie college upbringing and ignore Mrs. Grantham's gracious gift or just throw them away and give in to a new generation.

It got to the point where Brianna did not allow me to bring them in the house. Covered in sand and something sticky, they sat near the front door of my home for the first eight weeks I lived on St. Thomas.

The funeral was scheduled for Oct. 15 but they didn't make it. I even burned that old Boyz II Men song so I could play it during the service.

Hurricane Earl swept through here several weeks ago and left my front yard and porch in disarray. Leaves and tree branches everywhere and my birks took a significant blow.

While cleaning up the porch last week, I pulled up a board with debris and ants all over it. Like discovering the witch's curvy legs under the house in Wizard Of Oz, I found my birkenstocks.

They fought for as long as they could. I tossed them into a black trash bag that was already overflowing with beer bottles and empty tiki torch fuel cartridges.

I took a picture of the birks during their final hour but I can't post it on the blog. It just hurts too much. I'm still in mourning.

Before I threw the casket (a dirty, black trash bag) into the dumpster later that day, I took a moment to reflect on all the adventures I had with those comfortable bastards.

Rest In Peace, birkenstocks. You will be missed.