The Pasta Omelet Flashback Sandal

Ranking among my favorite stories in our family lore is the time my dad decided to make an omelet out of everything in the fridge.

When my brothers and I were growing up, my parents' work schedules meant that my dad was almost always on dinner duty. We quickly got used to his creative cooking techniques--butter sandwiches, anyone?--and friendly "Eat it or die" motto, but nothing could have prepared us for the night we sat down to eat what looked like a basic omelet.

I took my first bite, and within the eggy mixture I tasted the unmistakable doughy crust of Papa Murphy's hawaiian pizza.

"Ummm, Dad?" I asked. "Is there old pizza in this omelet?"

"Yes," he said flatly.

"Oh." I looked over at my brother Devin, whose mouth was agape, a tangle of yellow egg and white noodles hanging down over his chin. Horrified, I used my fork to split open the wedge of omelet on my plate, and sure enough, within it sat a clump of last night's fettuccine alfredo.

"Ummm, Dad?" Devin asked. "Why is there fettuccine in this omelet?"

"Because," my dad said, "I didn't want the leftovers to go to waste."

My next bite yielded teriyaki stir fry, then a hunk of apple sauce porkchop.

The dinner soon devolved into hysterical laughter, each of us guessing what our next forkful would reveal. All the while, my dad sat at the head of the table, stoically eating his pizza-pasta-stir fry-pork chop omelet creation, insisting it wasn't that bad. And also, to eat it or die.

Why am I telling you this story? Well, I recently found the shoe equivalent of my dad's famous omelet experiment:


Right? I mean, this designer just threw everything in the pan--there's an orthopedic sole, gladiator shape, athletic laces, high end snakesin, and even a sort of puffy moonboot material up at the top there. I'm sort of surprised the description doesn't include, "Wear it or die."

I might choose die. No offense.