Walking though the city recently, I was aware of a gaping hole in my insulation. Whilst my feet were kept warm by snugly-fitting Vibram Five Finger Treks and my legs by fleece-lined trousers, in between there was nothing. A whistling gale sliced across my ankles like a razor.
I was passing a ladies' accessories shop, when it struck me.
Have you got any leg warmers? I enquired within.
Over here, pointed the young lady assistant, coming out from behind the desk in spite of the I-don't-want-help vibes I thought I was giving.
Before us lay an array of multi-coloured Cindy Lauper-esque leg warmers.
She, ahem, wants them in plain black, I said.
The girl removed a pair from the display. We've only the fishnets in plain black, she said.
I looked doubtful, but she grinned encouragingly. Go on - girls like a bit of kinky!
Okay, I said weakly. My deception had left me unable to reason convincingly.
Later, under the scrutiny of my compadrés, I was naturally subject to ridicule. You're gay, was the sing-song verdict of one. Another emailed this YouTube link.
Ridicule I can tolerate, but cold ankles I simply won't stand for.