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"I need slippers," Arthur told the clerk, a man whose mustache looked professionally sculpted. "But not just any slippers. I want something that says, 'I might read a leather-bound book today, or I might just eat cereal in the dark.'"

"Too slippery," Arthur sighed. "I need traction for the treacherous journey between the bed and the coffee maker." The Contenders buy mens slippers

Next, the clerk brought out the . These were rugged, stitched with heavy thread, and lined with fluff so thick it looked like he’d stepped into two very small, very warm sheep. "I need slippers," Arthur told the clerk, a

That evening, Arthur sat in his favorite chair. The draft was still there, swirling around the floorboards, but it didn't matter. His feet were in a private, climate-controlled sanctuary. He didn't read a leather-bound book, and he didn't drink a martini. He just sat there, warm and victorious, watching the sunset over his toes. "I need traction for the treacherous journey between