While searching for an entirely unrelated subject (it’s always something unrelated), I found this image. College-aged guys standing around wearing giant flip-flops, the context entirely unconnected, yet the image perfect for what it conjured in my mind.

I’m not going to include the original link, as it belongs to a website for a political party I don’t hold in good favor, and I’m not interested in promoting anyone’s views here but mine. For now, anyway.

I imagine a place where giantesses exist, a world where related job opportunities open up every day because of our colossal needs, our wish to look our best at least part of the time.

Obviously this means some of the little guys (normal-sized, but small to us ladies) will jump at the chance to become living footwear.

It’s a logical socioeconomic conclusion in a planet inhabited by very tall women that have beautiful feet that never stink or get corns or calluses, you see?

I can see these little gentlemen, some of them contracted, but quite a few freelancing for a few extra bucks, and plenty of them that will do it for free, flip-flopping for the giantesses that suddenly find their feet unprotected after going for a rampage (or if they are like me, a walk) and their giant sandals, made in a different country and bought at Wal-mart, fall apart after one use. Tsk tsk.

Those giantesses would pay at least $50.00 an hour per foot to wear living flip-flops, I bet. Good money, no?

Not me, though. My sandals are durable, and I don’t shop at Wal-mart.

Except when I desperately need Very Important Stuff, such as video games and books and electronics and dish towels and pillows and sheets and socks and-