No Sole

OK, you know what? I get it. You just redid your floors. Or you're obsessive compulsive and you have issues with the squirrel poop I may trod through your house on the soles of my shoes. Or perhaps you're like those talk show hosts who have their chairs rigged to be eight inches higher off the ground than their guests. Maybe you just want to be taller than me.

But do you also have to be more comfortable than me?

Please don't ask me to take off my shoes in your home unless you're Indian or Asian. And even then, don't make me look longingly down at your fluffy sheerling lined Minnetonka moccasins as I slip off my own wumphy sheerling-lined Merrells and stand nakedly on your hard wood floors with only a thin pair of wool socks separating me from hypothermia. Unless of course you're planning on offering me a size 7 1/2 pair of Ugg slippers with the flexible sheepskin upper and wool fleece sock liner for my own delicate and deserved tootsies.

And no, I'm afraid your basket of complimentary black cotton Chinese slippers-in-many-sizes won't come close to the business of keeping me warm like the sheepskin lined L.L. Bean indoor/outdoor slides you're sportin', pal. If they did, then you would be wearing them, too. But you're not, are you. Do you know why? Because then you'd be cold. And in February no one conscientiously chooses to be cold unless you're an idiot or an Inuit. And if you've guessed that I'm neither, you would be correct.

You know, you could remind me to bring my own slippers. I'm happy to oblige. Put it right there on the party invitation. I could toss them and the gift onto the front seat without a second thought. And then we could both be cozy. And I could enjoy that piece of ice cream cake while standing on your stone floor. And I wouldn't have to covet your slippers.