This morning I gave up. When I woke, it was 42* outside, windchill of 37*, probably 33* when factoring in the wind tunnel of my terrace. That’s right, I cried uncle and put socks on.
I have a love/hate relationship with socks. Mostly hate. I prefer barefoot or flip-flops. I always make sure I have at least one pair of shoes that are fuzzy inside so I can delay the dreaded opening of the sock drawer as long as possible. But then…there are so many cool socks out there. Patterns, colors, silky, cozy, cushy, and itchy. Can’t forget itchy. They can be a boost on a cold morning, getting your toes warm and bright yarn to pierce a gray sky.
I always preferred barefoot. When I was a kid and running down the outside stairs without shoes on, my grandmother would yell behind me, “Fringie, the dogs make sissy out there! There’s glass!” Both true. Remember, I didn’t grow up in the country, these were the streets of South Brooklyn, no garbage cans on every corner, cracked cement, before NY was cleaned up for tourists, before the young and hip discovered the outer boroughs, before pooper scooper laws.
Here in Manhattan I don’t often see anyone barefoot outside. Once in a while, though, usually a young woman late at night or early in the morning carrying stilettos. Even I want to yell at her, “The dogs make sissy out here!”
As a teen, I would go to the beach and walk the boardwalk barefoot. The boardwalk used to be wood, no practical composite materials. Old weathered boards. At night, I could be found in my room with a pair of tweezers, picking the splinters out of the soles of my feet. By then, my feet were so calloused I didn’t feel the splinters going in or out. What did I do with my shoes while I was on the boardwalk or the beach? I can’t remember.
Now, I’ve got the feet of an old peasant. Makes sense, I am an old peasant. Doesn’t matter if I spend 99 cents or $8.00 on a pair of socks, the average lifespan is a season. Or it would be, if I threw them out once they had holes. I don’t. Not until the holes can no longer be twisted and arranged so my toe doesn’t poke through inside my shoe while I’m walking. That’s uncomfortable. I’m sorry Man Child, you got my feet.
Husband has the feet of royalty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear through a pair of socks. And he wears them :shudder: all year long.