Every winter since I can remember, my toes have turned dull purple from the cold, and stayed that way until spring. This is not an exaggeration; it has something to do with my poor circulation. I remember walking around in the snow as a kid and thinking what a luxury it must be to have warm feet.

This winter I bought sheepskin boots. The Ugg knockoffs beloved by sorority girls. I have to say, though, that in this respect they have some sensical basis for the ugliness of their fashion. My toes are still pink and toasty, and I have been traipsing through the snow for weeks. I like the snow much better now; I do not cringe when I see the flakes falling, knowing I must trek through it.

I mentioned this to my fiance: “the man with good footwear fears not the winter,” I said. “That should be a proverb,” he said.

“It is,” I replied “‘She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for they are clothed in scarlet.'”

“Scarlet” is perhaps more accurately translated “the best material.” And what better material did they have for winter boots in 800 B.C. Palestine than sheepskin?