Today as I trudged into the home of my bi-weekly benefactor I found myself walking behind a woman wearing gawdawful Uggs. But again, they're ubiquitious. They never left after the fashion trend of them died out. I was disappointed, but what can you do, ya know?

Anyway, as I walked behind this spritely lass, I looked at her boots and realized something: this woman had some pretty thick legs (yay) but I couldn't tell anything about her ankles. Those boots covered up the one thing that men and women alike abhor...

...CANKLES.

I couldn't tell one way or another whether or not this seemingly attractive woman was lower-leg challenged. And it bothered me. It bothered me to the point that I realized that's what has annoyed me about Uggs. They're sunglasses for ankles. No woman is ever going to give her number to a man unless she can look into his eyes and see that he has kind eyes or at least has some sincerity.

He might end up being a douchebag later, but you win some you lose some.

But nobody enjoys cankles. Even the holders of cankles generally want to remove the "c". And this is not an indictment on women who have them. I'm just not a fan. I appreciate a nice contoured, svelte ankle.

I remember my mother telling me that she wouldn't vote for Hillary Clinton because she had cankles. I believe the term for that is "hater" but still. It just proves that nobody is a fan. And if I meet you and you have on Uggs, I can't tell. And it would be wrong of me to ask you to remove them so I could make sure you had some nice ankleage.

It's a lose-lose really.

I've spent years grappling with this conundrum and it all crystallized today as I realized that Uggs remove my ability to ensure that the shallowness I exhibit as a male when attempting to pick out a life partner. And quite honestly, cankles is right towards the top with man-hands as reasons I wouldn't continue to pursue something with a woman I've just met, no matter how pretty her face is. Seriously, I remember meeting this woman out one time and we talked briefly before I took her hand to properly introduce myself and I looked down at what looked like the roughest set of fieldhands I'd ever seen in my life. I was floored. I returned to her face and then her hands and I couldn't understand how all that beauty could contain such rough hands.

It hurt really. But that's a story for my psychologist. Anyway...

I'm so glad to have determined what it was that's been haunting my dreams for eons. Now, if I could just find the Honeycomb Hideout!