I like this photo for two reasons. One, it was taken today, mid-January, the height of my winter fat season, yet it is still almost possible to see my feet while looking down. (Okay, so I sucked it in as much as my hypothetical abdominal muscles would allow.) Two, and more importantly, those are my 100% custom, handmade, lovingly-crafted-by-spouse wool socks way off in the distance, just over Belly Mountain.
Back in the days of my pre-Festivus gift guide series, I confessed (with great shame) that while I was a fan of wool cycling socks, I had yet to avail myself of the knitter who lives under the same roof for a made-to-measure pair. Thankfully, that glitch is now fixed, and I have a pair of custom wool socks made to match the specific contours of my freakish paddle-shaped feet.
Here's a better shot, showing both the heel/cuff detail and a swath of pasty, hairy calf. The yarn is some sort of wool/angora blend (I should have paid more attention, sorry dear) that feels simultaneously thin/breathable yet cozy -- an important detail since, like Steven Wright, I choose my socks by thickness. So far, I have only field-tested the socks for sleeping and semi-conscious lounging, two activities at which they (like their owner) excel. They also do a fine job of teaming up with the polyester carpet to generate a defibrillator's worth of static electricity.