The Legend of the Flying Flip Flop

I sit under an umbrella at what is now the third of five beach-front hotels through which my life's path has wound in the past couple months.  I feel like I don't belong here, and in many ways, I don't, but I'm a little conflicted getting to a point where I can consider this somehow negatively.  And there is always the five-o'clock-somewhere Cuba Libre I'm managing to guiltlessly integrate into my day.

A mother and three beach-aspiring little ones, all four in flip flops and one still in diapers make their way along a wooden path that leads to the beach.  The one in the diaper trips, lands on his hands and all hell ensues.  Diaper-boy is going for the academy award -tears and all. Diaper-boy's two little sisters strategically place their little bodies in a position that subtly states both their neutrality and their concern over the effect of this event on their trip to the beach. I felt terrible for the whole four of them.  

Within a minute or three, screaming diaper boy and his entourage had moved along and the peace had been restored.  The sun had shifted, so I repositioned my chair under the umbrella and now had a clear view of that wooden walking path.

Shortly, (or what passes for shortly under an umbrella on the beach with a five-o'clock-somewhere Cuba Libre) another similarly demographicked family came past on their way to the beach.  This family was not carrying anything at all, which distinguished them from screaming diaper-boy's family, who were beach-bound pack mules by comparison.  One of the second family's members also tripped at roughly the same spot.  This little one also landed on her hands.  In the process her flip-flop went spiraling through the air, landing clear off the walking path.  This flying flip-flop brought great amusement to her, and that amusement spread quickly through the family.  By the time she had recovered her rogue flip flop and returned it to its rightful place, the story - soon to be legend, I suspect - of the flying flip flop had become the central point in the family's conversation as they made their way to the beach.

As they left, part of me hoped that flying-flip-flop-family somehow managed to take their beach position in close proximity to screaming-diaper-boy's family.  And, part of me hoped they landed far, far away.