There is a time for everything under the sun, and socks in summer

is not one of them. 

Not even when I golf.
after a certain number of degrees fahrenheit

not only does my body reject socks (actually, it rejects socks even at 30 degrees), but there is also a particular point where my knees say un-un to pants, to anything over my knees unless it is wispy linen or super lightweight cotton. It’s as if a force repels them =), almost magnetic — like one of my favorite things to feel: the force between two magnets of equal poles. The energy is so palpable.