Love ItEver walk around your house barefoot and after an hour or two look at the bottoms of your feet and mistake yourself for a hobbit? You could either steam clean your floors … or you could put on a pair of socks.
Ever sink your bare feet into a pair of shoes and walk around for a while and start to feel like you’re traversing a mucky swamp?
I don’t love socks as much as I hate not wearing them. There’s a reason why we wear them: They separate us from the beasts. And I don’t mean lesser animals, though them, too. I’m talking about our feet.
Sure, there will be those people like the guy in college who never wore shoes or socks, even in the snow, who will say that you just have to let your feet out, let them breathe and there will be no odor or disgustingness.
To that, I would say, “Get your vile bare feet out of my face, you filthy animal, and go put on some socks.”
David HolubHate itWhat do I do when I get home? Take off my bra. Take off my shoes. Take off my socks. Why? Because all of these things are horrible and restricting, and I want to flop and flail onto the couch without feeling like my body is a prisoner.
If I have to wear socks, I enjoy knee or thigh-high socks, and in that case, I balance that whole body-being-a-prisoner thing by shucking off my other duds. Balance achieved. For daily wear, socks can suck it. I like being barefoot. I like letting my feet breathe and having my soles slap honest against whatever ground I’m around.
Also, can we have a moment where I loathe socks in bed? Who wears socks to bed? WHO DOES THAT? Monsters, that’s who. Or, hell, I guess one of the reasons I hate socks in bed is because for so long it was a necessity. Chicago winters get cold. Heating bills get high. Six layers of everything is how ya get by. And now, Hail Eris, I have just enough funds to afford the luxury of having bare feet in bed.