Where Are My Slippers?!

by

They be on my feet!

God damn it’s cold out there.  I don’t mind the rain and I don’t mind the cold, but combine them and I had wet, cold feet for a good part of the day today.  I can handle a decent amount of cold, but once the feet get chilled, it takes forever for the rest of me to warm up.

Case in point, I’ve been home now for about 45 minutes and I’m still wearing my scarf and my cardigan and I’m sitting next to the radiator and I have had a very large cup of hot Bengal Spice tea.  The toes are still cold.  The first thing I did when I got in was take off my wet shoes and socks and pull out my warmest pair of socks–purple striped wool Carharts that I got in Augusta, Maine during December of 2008, bought at the Renny’s with Wendy.

Then I put my slippers, faux fur-lined, specifically purchased for my trip to Hudson, Wisconsin this past December, on over them and started shuffling around the house.  I’m about to turn on my oven and stick my feet in there to toast them up.  I know that they will warm eventually and when that happens my whole body will light up because the rest of me is sufficiently warm.

My face is actually quite flush at this very moment.  But until my feet register as warm, the brain continues to send out distress signals telling me that I’m freezing to death.

If only my cat would sit on my fee rather than on my lap.  She is quite warm and divinely toasty hunched up in my lap right at this moment.  I already know she would not deign to nestle on my feet, but I have truly considered perching her there to warm up the tootsies.

I will be wearing socks to bed tonight.

That used to be an abhorrent idea to me.  I remember very distinctly sitting after hours over a few, quite a few, pints of bitter at the Angelic, talking with Maria Vasoli about how neither one of us could stand wearing socks on our feet when we went to bed.

This was in Madison, WI.

I am in California and I will be wearing socks to bed tonight, I can pretty much guarantee it.

Cass and I were talking today and she, being 65, credits this to getting older.  Fuck man, I’m 38, what do I have to look forward too?  I will be one of those old ladies carrying around an afghan that I crocheted myself.

It will be burnt sienna and it will have an owl in the middle of it.

I thought one got hot flashes as one got older.

Ah well, at least I have the ability to laugh at my younger self.  And John, John Morgan, where ever you may be, you darling man.  I am so sorry that I resented you for giving me socks one year on my birthday.  You were trying to be sweet, and they were wool, and cute, and I’m sure tres expensive (having now balked any number of times at putting out hard cash for quality socks, fuckers ain’t cheap) and I got mad at you.

You had noticed that I didn’t have many socks.  And I certainly did not have good socks.  And we were dating in Madison, and my birthday is in December.  You were a dear man and I threw those socks in your face.  Literally, I think.

If there is a man out there ready to give me a nice pair of socks, you, my dear are all romance and I will gratefully accept them and wear them to bed.

They don’t even need to come wrapped in flowers.

Daisies are my favorites.

I digress.

I think, it’s because I’m beginning to have sensation in my toes and my mind is overwhelmed with the feelings of defrosting toes.

Oh my god.

I’m still wearing my socks to bed.  In fact, I think I’m going to go huddle under the covers right now.

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