My Toes Are Warmer Than Yours

Winter 2015. The winter we got a new form of cardio. Shivering under fleece, multi layers, with mounds of wool covering our heads, toes, and feet.

I heard echos of my thoughts among the New England hills.  A weekend in Connecticut .  . .

I came screaming back to urban life as the quiet made my own thoughts too damned loud to deal with this side of Sunday. 

And the trees of Queens are bending under the weight of the glimmering white shroud.

Of course, I've spent more than a few hours spitting out bras.  The space bra being my favorite. Kinda makes you want to prance around the house topless, in just this bra, flinging your arms about singing "Natural Woman." Yea, I was a Jetson's child. 

Why yes...bras are the logical creation during a long winter's night shiver. 

These are my standard alts, from my bra love post. 

Okay, so I really do have seasonally appropriate wear. I do. 

Socks.

I mean look at those...just wonderfully done.  My toes are warmer than your toes.  

Ok.  Ok.  I know, there's the elephant in the room. They are, well, of questionable eye candy. Or, well, just outright on the downtown ugly side. But fourteen inches of warmth is worth every side eye on the stare.  

Have a drool. 

That's me standing on a freshly dusted cedar chest. Yes, dust and shine your cherry wood and then stand on it in socks. Then pose for sock shots (and that isn't as dirty as it should be, eh). Dare ya not to fall.  I may or may not have. 

Of course, also stand on a squichy chair to reach books five shelves up, while shivering from negative temps, and decide to "hey, let's take sock pics!" 

If you've learned nothing else know my toes are warmer than yours.