Rebel Socks

   Sometimes I wear boots. When I wear boots I wear socks underneath. Sometimes a terrible thing happens when I'm wearing socks on my feet and boots on my socks. That thing is called a rogue sock giving up on life and falling down my ankle and ending up squished in the toe of my boot, clean off my foot!
    There is no casual way to pull the sock back up when its scrunched in the toe of the boot. The only way to fix it is to take off the entire boot, expose your bare foot to the world and accept the shame and judgement that comes with it. Most of the time, I'm wearing boots because it's cold, and I don't want to risk being toppled over as I balance on one foot due to a sudden gust of northwesterly wind. Can you imagine how vulnerable you would be? I can see myself- because trust me, it would happen to me- lying facedown in a snowbank, one hand on the rebel sock, my bare foot blending in with the freshly fallen snow.
   Don't nobody got time for that. And since I don't budget my time to make acceptances for socks that are quitters, don't nobody got time to fix it before class either, because don't nobody arrive to class more than two seconds before lecture starts. So then I'm forced to sit in class with my foot cold-sweating directly onto the sole of the boot, stanking up the whole place. It's the stanky leg, but not the dance move, the literal version.