Wet Sock Spiral of Doom

The only thing I really like about winter is Christmas, and snow. In my opinion, Christmas comes way too early in winter- leaving much of the horrid coldness with little to look forward to. Snow is the only positive.

Snow makes my world stand still. It’s so quiet, and wraps everything in a brilliant blanket of sleek shimmering wonder. Yet, there is a terrible part to snow.

Here’s how a typical wet sock spiral of doom plays out:

It is winter. You are cold. Toes get especially cold. The best remedy is a big pair of the fluffiest socks available, the kind with the absorbency of a sponge.

Place super-fluffy socks on your feets. YES! Feets are warm!

Continue your day as planned.

Now, this is where it gets tricky.

You walk around without a care in the world. You walk on those super-fluffy, sponge like socks with utter-fucking joy. Your feets are so fucking warm, you might even start to skip. Yes, skip!

You are now skipping across the house like an idiot with glee bouncing off your face, and your feet. You start to think of how much more efficient you could be if you skipped everywhere you go. You start to think of others that would join your skipping revolution. THIS IS REVOLUTIONARY!

Until, it happens. Mid beast-mode skipping (you really got your momentum going) you hit it; that one small speck of hell. It’s the devil of winter, the Hitler of feet comfort, the ultimate feeling of failure. You bound into a seemingly small melted puddle of hate.

Since you were high on comfort and skipping around the house like a dumbass (on the tile floor), you were going really fast. You hit the melted death trap and send yourself spiraling into the air landing on the floor of failure.

As you lay there you remember you are not a failure, and this one stumble will not impede your success! You access the moisture on your fluffy socks and determine, you can deal with this.

You get up and go about your day. You have less joy now, and one wet big toe.

You discover this was not one melted pile of the devil incarnated snow- it is actually a landmine! With every step you are impaled with horrid icy puddles of doom. By the time you reach your destination you are slopping around five extra pounds all on your stupid, fluffy, sponge like socks.

You now hate snow, you hate socks, and hell you may even hate your feet.