down-filled booties that we bought at IKEA yesterday. They are not what we went for, but when I saw them I thought I had died and gone to heaven. We each had to have a pair.
My feet have been cold for the past 17 years. Portland is far from the coldest place I've ever lived, but there is a damp cold here that grabs you by the feet and is relentless. My feet are colder here when it is 30° F than they were in Idaho at 0°. I have gone to bed with cold feet that kept me awake all night despite the fact that the rest of me was comfortable, too, too many nights. Regular old socks don't do the job. But I am sitting here, typing away, with my feet in those puffy, red mucklucks and they are toasty. I don't care how dumb they look. When your feet are warm life is good.