The Incorrigible Night Owl

What is with old ladies’ obsession about babies’ feet, specifically whether or not said feet are encased in socks?
I was approached in the grocery yesterday by a nice older lady. The first words out of her mouth were, “Her feet look cold!”, a comment which left me looking perplexedly at Eliza’s feet, trying to figure out how the devil she could tell. Eliza’s toes were not blue; nor were they the telltale black of dead, frostbitten flesh. They were normal, pink, chubby baby feet (that I want to butter, salt and eat for lunch because they are so cute, but that’s another entry).
I could understand if the temperature outside was in the forties or fifties or, heck, even the sixties. But time of year matters not to little old ladies. In a perfect world there would be nary a naked baby toe in all the land, on any day of the year. “It’s 97 degrees outside!” I protest. Yes, they acknowledge, then wag their fingers at me: but the air conditioning is on in here. “I know, and it probably feels good — because it’s 97 degrees outside!!!” Alas, my argument falls on deaf ears — mainly because their hearing aid batteries have died, which is why they are at the store in the first place.
I suppose this is an issue on which we must agree to disagree. Perhaps at some future date the little old ladies will realize we are not raising a generation of consumptives, despite modern mothers’ foolhardy refusal to mummify our baby’s feet. Or perhaps a study may be published that shows a strong correlation between increased juvenile delinquency and a failure to sport appropriate footwear in infancy. Then the little old ladies can nod knowingly and mutter, “We told you so!” at us in the shops and, before you know it, I and my generation will be those little old ladies, patrolling retail establishments everywhere to admonish young mothers of sockless babes.
Note to future self: remember to also ask why baby isn’t wearing a hat.