Of Crocs and Cameltoes

Scene: Walking down Union on my way to work, just before eight AM on this fine, sunny Friday morning in June. I spy a woman, dressed decently enough for work, apart from the goddamned Crocs she's wearing. Not just Crocs, bright coral Crocs. There should have been ominous background music, because clearly? Shit was about to go down. I reach the crosswalk at the same time as my Croc wearing foe, and there's a moment of quiet prior to the following exchange.

Me: Is it worth it?

Croc-ashit Wearing Chick: Excuse me?

Me: Is it worth it?

CWC: What?

Me: You look fucking ridiculous in those shoes. So I just have to know, are you SO fucking comfortable that it's worth looking that stupid?

Her: BITCH!

Okay. So here's the thing. I know that was mean of me. I get it. Not only do I, owing in part to never wearing Crocs, not LOOK stupid, I'm actually NOT stupid. So I know that saying that to a perfect stranger nice and early on a lovely Friday was not the nicest thing in the world to do.

BUT. If you take a longer view of the situation, I think you'll see that I did her a favor. Say there's even a 10% chance that she'll go home and throw away those shoes, now that she knows that they are so offensively awful that a total stranger just had to comment on them. Well, then not only have I done HER a favor, but I've done the whole city one as well, since there's at least one less pair of godawful shoes wandering the city that we have to look at.

I mean, if you were wearing something ridiculously ugly, you'd want one of your friends to tell you, right? If, say, your beloved new pants gave you some serious cameltoe, you'd want to know? I propose that this is no different.