Women by nature are cyclical creatures. We remember birthdays. We drink pumpkin spice lattes because it’s fall. And until recently, we respected the fashion laws of our foremothers, even if they didn’t make much sense.

Our elders forbid us from going bare-legged in the winter, and we heeded their wisdom, trusting their vast experience with Lycra and fishnet.

But nature’s warming fury has tempted us, making us challenge the blessed season of decreased shaving and excess cookie consumption, and women are proudly displaying their fleshy stems.

This Thanksgiving week, I’m disheartened to see so many women donning the unnatural, sorority-born combination of short skirt, leather boots and bare legs. This look, even on 60-degree days, clashes with the gray clouds and Christmas decorations sprouting up around town.

Why, ladies, must we renounce a wintry accessory that gives shape to many imperfect legs? Why do we reject the black, stretchy fabric that masks our flaws?

I admit that I’m weirdly sensitive to flesh in November. I’d sleep in tights to avoid seeing my translucent Irish skin, which, much like a mood ring, changes tone with variations in my circulation. Because I’m considerate of society’s eyes, I spare you and wear tights at least half the year.

I plead, let’s not forgo items that improve us. Weather patterns may tempt, but in matters of skin, our mothers really do know best.