Piggies and poor politics…

socks and barefeet edited

It isn’t often I wax political in the blogosphere, and for today’s post I blame my husband and his Popsicle piggies. Some men or women have cold feet before they walk down the aisle; my dear husband has had cold feet ever since. But not me; I wear socks.

Somehow my dear husband finds a woman sleeping in socks less than sexy, but I refuse to address what is sexy and what isn’t here. This is not that kind of blog. I think if a man prefers a woman who is practical in most matters, he should expect her to wear socks — especially in winter. Especially if that man refuses to run central heat. I would argue that sleeping with a man who doesn’t wear socks and has Popsicles for toes is less than sexy. But, again, this is not that sort of blog.

Every chilly night — and we do get a few here in Florida — you can find me in socks and Crocs those hours before bed. I may be completing chores, I may be tapping at my keyboard, I may be watching some TV with my dear husband. But my feet are comfy cozy in socks and Crocs as I traverse the cold floors of our humble abode. My husband? Not so much. He is barefoot and fancy free — and chilling his toes to Popsicle temps just prior to bedtime.

My side of the bed, by the way, hosts a heated blanket, which I crank up to high before heading to bed and then lower to a Level 1. (I am reserving the night sweats for later in life.) My husband’s side of the bed doesn’t; that is what he prefers.

As soon as we get into bed, my husband’s chilly appendages creep their way over to my side of the bed — not to experience the warmth of my heating blanket, mind you, but to suck the warmth from my very flesh. Yes. He manages to weave his iced piggies through any fabric barriers to place them directly on my skin. I flinch, I flail, I fight; I say unkind things.

“You are so selfish,” my husband says, clearly enjoying every aspect of this nightly event.

“No, you are so stupid!” I retort, clearly not enjoying this. “If you would just choose to wear socks and help yourself instead of trying to suck the warmth out of me with your Popsicle toes, I might willingly share my warm side of the bed.”

And that, my friends, is my take on the state of politics of the poor in our United States of America.

Stay with me now. The sock wearers are the “haves”; the sockless are the “have nots.” The sock wearers are willing to work, to do what it takes to have. Some sockless are not sockless by choice and are willing to work but can not and so have not. But some sockless, like my husband, are sockless by choice; they are not willing to work but are more than willing to take what others have. Our government applauds the first, attempts to aid the second, and enables the latter to the extent that the first work to aid the rest.

Maybe “This Little Piggy” was a political statement, not just a nursery rhyme:

This little piggy went to market,

This little piggy stayed home,

This little piggy had roast beef,

This little piggy had none,

And this little piggy cried wee wee wee wee all the way home.

I’m thinking the piggy that went to market lived with the piggy who had roast beef. The little lazy piggy who stayed home instead lived with the little piggies who had none and cried. (Although seeing a toe do any of those things would be a scary sight…)

Wear socks, my friends.

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