It's been a long day hiking, and I'm anxious to finally get in and get the tent setup. Haven't even started the cooking fire, and I can practically smell the food already from the hunger and imagining it to be on a chocolate gift baskettes entirely for my desert. Those are the kinds of tricks that the belly will play on you after a full day in the woods. I take off my cumbersome hiking boots and put on my Birkenstock sandals, ready to relax around the campfire.

Sally comes up to me, and smiles. She always jokes with me about the Birkenstock sandals. Not only does she worry that I will get poison ivy wearing Birkenstock sandals around in the middle of the north woods, but the state of repair of them is really something else. My Birkenstock mens sandals are falling apart, held together solely by duct tape and a prayer. But they're comfortable. The older a pair of Birkenstock sandals get, the more comfy they become. Appearance be damned, I think.

As I get the fire going, though, I feel an itch below the thong of my Birkenstock sandals. I don't think anything of it – I barely notice it, except in retrospect, and continue to prepare the food. It's good. Since we're not camping too far off the beaten path, and are only going to be in the woods for a few days, we can eat fresh food. Tonight, it is grilled steak and roasted corn. The meat is marinated, and the corn is salted and buttered just right. But I can't quite get my mind off the itch in my Birkenstock sandals.

Finally, I look down and can't believe my eye. My whole right foot is swollen and red underneath the Birkenstock sandals. Whatever I stepped in, I stepped in it bad. I've never seen poison ivy spread like that. It takes me half an hour to find the calamine lotion, and by that point, it is all I can do to not scratch the damnable itch. I undo my Birkenstock sandals before my foot swells too big to take them off, and go to soak it in the nearby creek. It provides a little relief, but I know that hiking tomorrow will be hell. I can see that Sally is suppressing the desire to smirk at me, instead expressing sympathy over my plight. She was right and she knows it. Next time, I'll wait until I get home to put on my Birkenstock sandals.