It's silly of me to get worked up over people getting worked up over stupid things, but I still find myself wanting to tell the summer fashion police that all their problems would be solved by simply putting their head in a bucket. Preferably one filled with cold water, but sufficient opacity of bucket renders that optional. Out of sight, out of mind. Much better for all concerned, no really, here-let-me-help.
Instead I chortle at the power of my city-roaming thong*-clad feet to inspire terror and loathing.
*aka flip-flops, I'm not really in the habit of podiatric lingerie.