This morning, my wife said she was going to put on her “slippers.” That got me thinking. Why aren’t they called “anti-slippers”? If I wanted to slip, I could just walk across the kitchen floor in socks like a normal human being. Why buy special equipment for it?

The word “slipper,” I am told, comes from “slip on,” meaning “easy to put on.” Somewhere along the line, that definition took a sharp turn and became “easy to fall in.” Whoever named these things clearly never reached the age where gravity becomes aggressive.

Every time I see one of my doctors, the first question they ask is not “How are you feeling?” or “Are you enjoying life?” It’s always: “Have you fallen recently?” I usually answer, “No, but now that you brought it up, I feel one coming on.” At our age, falling is not an event. It’s a lifestyle threat. Young people fall and bounce. We fall and need a team of specialists.

Slippers are supposed to be comfortable shoes. Soft. Cozy. Warm. What they actually are is a combination of felt, foam and false confidence. You put them on and suddenly believe you can move around the house like you’re still 25. That confidence lasts right up until you hit the throw rug.

Manufacturers brag about “slip-on convenience.” I can slip into my sneakers. I can slip into my walking shoes. None of those try to kill me in the hallway at night when I’m half asleep on my way to the bathroom.

Let’s talk about the design. Slippers have flexible soles, fuzzy insides and about the same traction as a banana peel. The bottoms should come with warning labels: “For decorative purposes only.” They should also include knee pads and a small letter of apology.

Then there’s the classic backless slipper. This is footwear with a built-in escape plan. The heel is open so your foot can leave the shoe at any moment, preferably while you’re turning a corner. Nothing says “stability” like footwear that refuses to stay attached.

And yet we keep wearing them. Why? Because they’re warm. Because they’re easy. Because, at our age, bending down to tie shoes feels like preparing for a yoga class we never signed up for.

So I propose a rebranding campaign. Let’s stop calling them slippers. Call them “Anti-Slippers.” Or “Indoor Safety Loafers.” Or “Fall Prevention Pods.” Give them rubber soles, ankle support, and maybe a GPS tracker so someone can find us if we disappear behind the couch.

Until then, I will continue my daily ritual: Putting on slippers while reminding myself to walk like I’m carrying a full cup of coffee on a roller rink.

Because at our age, comfort is nice. But staying upright is even better.

Michael Kossove is professor emeritus, Touro University. He lives in Kauneonga Lake, NY.