winter is coming.

I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, day in — day out. In my robe. Tapping away at my MacBook Pro. Scrolling job classifieds and filling out personality tests.

I’m unemployed.

That RONA screwed up every gig I had booked for 2020. She pulled the rug out from under me. Leaving me dangling over this icy cataclysmic void of uncertainty.

And I can’t feel my feet.

So I bought some UGG’s.

Ugg boots. 100% Australia twin sheepskin fleece lining.

Black tanned outer.

The real deal. (None of that synthetic “budget-cousin” crap.)

Yes. I suppose I have joined the ranks of yuppy influencers that I once wrote punk songs in wild disdain of.

But don’t judge me.

I was craving comfort. Warmth. Something that was going to hold my hand — (or foot) — as I sit here idle and motionless.

How was I going to survive the cold season fast approaching? In socks?

The second I slid my bare foot into that plush inner-sole, I felt like Cinderella donning her first pair of heels. Unadulterated ecstasy. Except, mine was to be a far more sensible shoe choice. I even omitted a little yelp of pleasure. My girlfriend laughed. But she understood.

I know what you’re thinking. Scolding at my impulse purchase or even jealous of my illicit encounter with bliss.

For posterity sake rest assured I’m never wearing them outside the apartment.

Truth: I may just never leave the apartment at all.

Ugg boots.