I forget that my serenity can be controlled by what covers my feet. But, yes, right now I'm at peace, and I believe I owe it to the socks I wear.
This pair is not special; it's just from a Gabriel Brothers' three-pack of that week's irregular stock. But they're smooth and silky, which bodes well for the incessant rubbing-of-my-feet-together. It's depressing to rub starchy cotton together. Or rough sweat socks.
I just hope this pair of socks will make it through the night, will peacefully co-exist with my menopausal feet. (My feet are actually 55 years old and wont to hot flashes at night.) If my feet get too toasty and the socks come off, I'm left with a new problem. My ankles.
Even if I could fry an egg on my feet, my ankles are still usually cold. Or just...uncovered. Perhaps it's the latent fundamentalist Muslim in me, but I like to be completely covered at night. With socks, no problem. I just tuck my pajama bottoms into them.
Without socks, I wake up at night uncomfortable. My pajama pants creep up my legs. I'm vulnerable to the night air. I am not in control. I like to be in control.
Leg warmers are the answer.