My mom is chronically cold. I grew up in a town where the normal summer temperature was around 110 degrees and she would wear flannel pajamas to bed. My brothers and I would sleep with windows open and fans on high and pray for the time to come when my mom would leave for work the next day so we could close the house up and turn the AC on and bask in the sweet relief of cold. Well, at least till mom got the power bill and we were all thoroughly yelled at and reminded about child birth pain and that money trees don’t exist but capital punishment does.
In the winter she’d wear her flannel pajama pants but she’d finish off the outfit by putting on the warmest pair of socks she could find and tucking the bottom of her pants into them. As a kid this horrified me but because capital punishment was a thing that existed and I was tired of hearing about child birth pain, I chose not to point this out.
Once I became an adult I started to endlessly mock her for it. 19 years of merciless shaming spewed from my mouth with her just laughing it off. Like SHE KNEW WHAT WOULD COME TO PASS.
Ben has Raynauds so he likes our bedroom to be warm at night. I have a cold dead heart and no soul so I prefer a cold bedroom for sleeping. This has been a constant back and forth for our entire relationship and apparently because Ben has an actual diagnosis from a doctor and my diagnosis came from one of the voices in my head, he generally wins this particular battle.
So imagine my surprise when the other night I found myself climbing into bed with pajama pants on. The weather here has been odd this year. Instead of the normal gradual shift to colder weather we basically skipped Fall when one day Summer turned into Winter and the entire Bay Area woke up covered in a layer of ice. LITERAL ICE.
Then Thursday night, it happened. I was getting ready for bed and our bedroom was freezing. I climbed into bed to watch some TV, forced Kumo to share some of his heat with me via Cuddle Therapy, burrito’d myself into the covers… I tried everything and I could just not get warm. So after I had gotten up to do all the boring Pre Bed Preperations I grabbed a pair of socks to try and add an extra layer of insulation to my freezing body.
And tucked my pants into them.
I sat on the side of my bed and hung my head in shame as I realized that I’d have to eventually tell my mother because I have a stupid asshole guilty conscious. Assuming she doesn’t read this post we’ll probably be having a nice dinner somewhere one evening and I’ll make fun of her for something and she’ll make Mom Face at me and I’ll end up screaming across the table of a busy restaurant, “I’M A SOCK TUCKER! I TUCK MY PANTS INTO MY SOCKS OKAY! I SAID IT! THERE! STOP MAKING THAT FACE AT ME I’M SORRY!”
Hello. My name is Anna Hirsch, I am a sock tucker.