As you’ve probably picked up by now, Heather and I are known to engage in husband/wife debates about everything and anything (including the etiquette of picking a restaurant). Well, 2012 just started and we’ve already had our first debate. Before I get to it though, you must look at the following photo and tell me if you see anything wrong with it:


If you saw nothing wrong with the photo you are likely attractive, smart, and admired by all of your friends, family, and neighbors. If, however, you took umbrage with my footwear, you probably agree with Heather. But I digress. Let me back up a bit.

One of my Christmas presents from Heather was a pair of fancy slippers. I’ve never really been a slippers kind of guy, but once I “slipped” on this pair I was hooked… it felt like my feet were getting a hug! I immediately started wearing these godsends around the house day and night, a fact which pleased Heather to no end and made her feel like an extremely gifted gift giver.

Heather soon mentioned that my slippers had rubber soles, and, as opposed to most slippers, could be worn outside to get mail. That afternoon I wore my slippers outside to do just that, and when I got back inside I thought, “That was the most enjoyable trip to get the mail of my entire life! Every step felt like a trip to the spa!!!” For the next few days I not only wore my slippers out to get the mail, but to take the dog to the bathroom, speak to the neighbors, and whatever other excuse I could find to go outside.

But then the trouble began. I was home alone last Friday night when Heather called and asked me to join her, Annie, and her parents at a restaurant. As I started out the door I noticed my beloved slippers laying pitifully on the floor. “Where are you going without me?” they seemed to ask, all sad and lonesome.

When I got to the restaurant Heather looked mortified.

“What are you wearing on your feet?!?!?”

“Those shoes you got me for Christmas.”

“SLIPPERS I got you for Christmas.”

“Right. The slippers slash shoes you got me for Christmas.”

“There’s no ‘slash shoes,’ Mike.  They’re slippers. Only slippers.”

Heather sighed that heavy sighs only wives know and said, “I don’t even know if they’ll let you into this restaurant like that.”

Well, they DID let me into the restaurant, but when we got home Heather officially “banned” me from wearing my slippers in public, saying that doing so was akin to Seinfeld’s George Costanza wearing sweatpants in public, and, to quote Jerry, a sign that one had “given up on life.”

I refused to acknowledge her ban, however, saying that A) I think they look pretty good and are almost indistinguishable from regular shoes unless you really stare at them, and I don’t care what people think. I am no longer a cool twentysomething but a married Dad, and as such I am allowed to do things that are nerdy/embarrassing. All dads do something that makes their kids go “Oh, Dad.” My thing could be slippers in public!

After debating this a good fifteen minutes we decided to let you good people be the judge.  So what do you think? Is banning me from wearing my glorious slippers in public totally unfair or what?