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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.

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. buy mens slippers

"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.'" Next, the clerk brought out the

Finally, the clerk reached for a box on the top shelf. Inside were the . They weren't flashy. They looked like something a very cozy monk would wear. The draft was still there, swirling around the

Arthur stood in the middle of his living room, his toes curling against the hardwood floor like a cat on a cold countertop. It was 6:00 AM, and the draft snaking under the front door had finally won the war against his thickest wool socks. It was time for a change. It was time for the "Great Slipper Quest."

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