Cold feet. If there’s one thing in life I can count on, it’s that my feet will betray me in the most dramatic ways possible. For me, cold feet are not just an inconvenience; they are a full-blown sensory apocalypse. You know that feeling when something so overwhelmingly annoying takes over every fiber of your being? Yeah, that’s me with cold feet. The moment my feet get chilly, it’s as though my entire body stages a riot. Everything else, sounds, lights, textures, the random guy three blocks away sneezing, becomes amplified to unbearable levels. It’s like my nervous system goes, “Oh, oh, we’re doing this now, are we? Let’s crank up the chaos!” And just like that, I’m on sensory overload.

The kicker is that my feet get cold at the drop of a hat, or, more accurately, the drop of a few degrees. And socks? Oh, don’t even get me started on socks. Socks are my nemesis. The mere thought of them sends shivers of disgust up my spine. They’re tight, they’re itchy, they’re suffocating, and don’t get me started on the seams or wrinkles! Who on earth designed those monstrosities? It’s like someone thought, “How can we make an already uncomfortable experience absolutely unbearable? I know, let’s add seams that dig into sensitive skin in all the wrong ways!” Genius, really. Well evil genius that is.

There’s a plot twist to this tale of frosty misery: moccasins. Yes, I have found salvation in the form of these soft, glorious foot-hugging marvels. Moccasins are like a warm hug for your feet, but without the suffocating, scream-inducing nightmare that is socks. I don’t just tolerate moccasins; I adore them. I’ve reached the point where I think, if society would let me, I’d wear them everywhere, grocery stores, weddings, maybe even swimming pools. Honestly, if I could get away with wearing them to bed, I would. Okay, fine, I admit it, I’ve already done that and most of the above except the pool, have to figure out waterproof and a few other things before I can, that and I don’t think they are allowed at the public pool. Know what? It was bliss. My feet were snug, warm, and happy, and for once, I didn’t wake up wanting to commit sock-related crimes. I wonder if it is because the seams are on the outside and they form to your feet so well without wrinkling up?

The only problem? I need more moccasins. Desperately. I have dreams of crafting several pairs, like some sort of leatherworking elf in a cozy woodland workshop. First, though, I need hide, actual material to make these magical foot saviors happen. The logistics of obtaining hide and learning how to turn it into moccasins for each season and situation are another story entirely. But mark my words, I’m committed to this dream. Maybe I’ll enlist some woodland creatures to help me, Cinderella-style. Although, knowing my luck, the squirrels would probably steal the hide and build some sort of rodent castle with it instead. At least I can make the things at a basic level now to bring my game up.

Now, here’s the part that really gets me: I’ve lived my entire life without realizing that moccasins were the answer. Decades of enduring the torment of cold feet, the rage-inducing curse of socks, and my general rebellion against shoes, wasted! All because I didn’t discover the magic of moccasins sooner. It’s almost tragic, really. If only someone had handed me a pair years ago, I could have avoided so many miserable, frostbitten moments. But alas, the universe works in mysterious ways, and mine apparently involves delayed moccasin enlightenment. To anyone who hates socks and hates cold feet give these a try but can’t be the store-bought cheap ass knock offs, they must be the real deal.

It’s a strange contradiction, though, isn’t it? I hate socks, I hate shoes, and yet I’ve fallen head over (cold) heels for moccasins. But when I think about it, contradictions are kind of my thing. Between my ASD and ADHD, I’ve got enough paradoxes to start a philosophical debate. I mean, how many people do you know who can’t stand the feeling of fabric against their skin but will happily wrap themselves in a heated blanket in the middle of a heatwave? That’s right, me. Right now, even as I write this, my feet are wrapped in a gloriously toasty heated blanket because, despite the fact that it’s so hot outside you could fry an egg on the sidewalk, my feet feel like they’ve been dunked in the Arctic Ocean, yet again. Go figure.

The thing about contradictions is that they tend to confuse people. But the best people, the ones who really get me, don’t just accept my contradictions; they embrace them. They see the me that I hide, the one that’s a little frayed around the edges but still sparkles in the right light. They understand that my quirks aren’t just quirks; they’re part of the way my brain and body navigate an often-overwhelming world. And let me tell you, when someone “gets it,” it’s like winning the lottery without even buying a ticket. It’s rare, it’s precious, and it makes you feel seen in a way that’s hard to put into words.

But back to my feet. My traitorous, high-maintenance, chaos-causing feet. It’s honestly a little ridiculous how much power they hold over me. Like, who gave them permission to control my entire sensory experience? Why do they get to decide whether I’m calm and collected or teetering on the edge of a meltdown? I swear, if my feet were a person, they’d be some kind of overly dramatic diva demanding constant attention and pampering. And honestly? I’d still cave to their demands, because let’s face it: I’m not going to win this battle. I can’t argue with biology, no matter how much I’d like to. Instead I will just be a wise ass and try to ignore the fact my feet are freezing cold and have been since I got out of bed.

So here I am, living in a perpetual state of cold-feet-induced chaos, armed with a heated blanket and dreams of moccasin-making glory. It’s not exactly the life I imagined, but it’s mine, contradictions, and all. And you know what? It’s kind of hilarious in its own absurd way. Because when life gives you cold feet, you might as well laugh, wrap them in a heated blanket, and start plotting your moccasin empire. Just another bit of chaos that makes me, well me.