Life is Better in Flip Flops

Paris spends most of its year being cold, gray, and damp. So I spend most of my year clad in knee-high boots, being cold, gray, and damp. Well, actually, I usually wear black. But at the first sign of warmth, I bust out the flip flops and keep them on until my little piggies start to freeze off and beg me to "please put some damn shoes on, woman!"

Life is better in flip flops. Unless you lose them in a bar.

Of course, that plan only works if I don't lose my flip flops in a bar. Which I actually did on several occasions but only confessed to once in my book. Here's an excerpt from Confessions of a Paris Party Girl:

I walked home barefoot from a bar, having lost both flip flops in two separate incidents. Dirty from the dance floor, my feet were in embarrassing shape. Yet I miraculously arrived home with feet cleaner than I'd ever seen. The fresh rain combined with the abrasive sidewalks gave me a free French pedicure.

What's your favorite thing about summer? Flip flops? Frozen drinks? French pedicures?