It’s the thong-troversy that’s divided a nation.
Aussie bogans far and wide have leapt to Ceberano’s defence, preaching the virtues of our national footwear, raising their pluggers high in support. “They’re not even thongs!” they cried, “They’re fancy thongs!” Fancy thongs or not, I am calling bullsh*t and telling Kate one thing: step up your shoe game, or I’m taking your place in the lounge.
Growing up in a non-thong wearing household, I personally struggle with the concept of the much-loved footwear. Why do people wear them? Do their feet get hot? Does a standard-issue sandal take too long to operate? Are they in a rush that all they can do is slide and go?
There are so many issues with thongs, a style that is simply fraught with danger. You can’t run in them, they are open to the elements, and most of all, they are blacklisted at most venues. Including – and I hope you’re listening, Ms. Ceberano – the Qantas Lounge.
I’m with Qantas on this one.
Once I’ve finally reached a point in my life that I am allowed into the Qantas Lounge – and God knows, that’s probably still a few years/flights/pay cheques from now – there’s a few things that I don’t need to deal with.
I don’t want to look at your ingrown toenails or crusty heels. I don’t want to smell your toe sweat. I don’t want to hear the flapping of plastic pluggers on the pristine lounge linoleum. And I sure as hell don’t want to run the risk of spilling some searing hot soup on your unprotected tootsies. (I hear they have soup in the lounge. Is this true? Is it served really in gold leaf dishes? Is there actually a chocolate waterfall?)