Conformist

Dear World,

I am sorry to inform you that I have caved. I, after almost 21 years of my life of hating them, own a pair of Uggs.

I blame my mother. She loves them, but not the way that obnoxious college sorority girls love them. She wears them under her jeans, not rolled, and only when it is cold enough to warrant them outside. This being said, she also owns 3 pairs. One year, my dad went out and bought her a new set of the ankle high in light tan, but unfortunately they were a little too big. Into the closet they went to wait for someone to get the motivation or time to exchange them.

A year and a half later, my mother is rummaging through the hall closet, finds them, and throws them at me. "They're comfortable! They're warm!" she said. "HELL NO!" I said, but took them with me anyway, thinking that at the very least I would just let them hang out in my closet until they hopefully deteriorated into nothing.

I was unpacking some stuff this morning, putting some things away and I stumbled across the Ugg box. I picked it up, checking to see the size. It's a 9, there is no way that this could possibly fit. "I know!" I thought so cleverly to myself, "I'll try them on, and then they'll be too small! My mom will have to take them back!" Oh poor, poor choice. They fit like a glove. They're fuzzy, they're squishy, they're warm. They hug your feet. As my mother says, they're happiness for your feet. And, on top of it all, they make my feet look little.

My good ladies and gentlemen, I like them. I... I may even wear them outside the apartment! I may wear them to class! I may go skipping down the streets singing to everyone the newfound joy of Uggs! Ok, maybe not the last one, but gosh darn it, they are comfy.

That, my dear people, is my story.