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Cold feet and girlie socks

Look at your feet.

Fill in the blanks - my feet are ..., they feel ..., they look ...

... knobbly, svelt, plumptious, furry, hairy, bald, smooth, flaking, dry, sweaty, clean, dirty, stinking, warm, like ice-blocks, socked, naked, pink, white, blue, black (see a doctor), numb, tickle-y, pins and needles-y, beautiful, sexy, hobbit-y, cloven ... etc

Mine are cold.

A day of shopping, providing a taxi service to Littlest, gardening and sitting at my desk has (and probably, predominantly, the latter occupation is to blame) resulted in freezing toes, white skin and a tingle where the bunion is just beginning to say it's chilly down here.

It's not helped by the nakedness, due to tardiness in the dressing activity after post-gardening ablutions earlier - um, just pausing to assess that image ... no I'm not shivering in the altogether at my desk - that would be weird in January. Weird any month of the year. No, the tardiness was due to utter disdain for the choice of socks in the sock drawer. Not only do us gals have to pay more for our toiletries, but our expensive fashion socks are a pathetic apology for foot attire - thin, run to holes faster than pastry would were we to en-croute our feet, barely stretch above the knobbly bits of our ankles and shrink even if hand-washed. Who hand-washes their socks? - me. After too many mornings trying to squeeze my feet into tiny, scratchy, vaguely tube-shaped mats of knotted, sharply cutting, toe-nail snagging threads, masquerading as the socks that fitted yesterday but ain't going to fit today. Men on the other hand have thick, durable, plush socks which cocoon their feet in a thermal, swaddling blanket of woolly extravagance. Okay,  so they might be a little or indeed totally unfashionable, but my feet wouldn't care.

I'm off to find some man socks ...




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