Socks

comingunmoored.com

New Year, new day. new socks. It’s been a good year so far. There’s nothing like putting on a pair of brand new socks first thing in the morning. The smooth feel along the bottom of your foot, the way your heel slides right into the heel cup and none of that pesky sock fluff piling up between your toes right away.

This may all sound pretty funny coming from a guy who goes barefoot in the middle of the winter. I put this down to my early hockey years. I spent so many weekends and evenings at the rink as a kid, putting skates on at -20 degrees (Fahrenheit or Celsius, take your pick) that I learned quickly how to keep my feet warm almost anywhere.

My feet will be perfectly toasty during the day, but between the time I brush my teeth and jump under the comforter in the evening, my tootsies are like chunks of ice. Ask my darling wife. Or my neighbours. They've probably heard the yell of shock from my wife as I put my feet on hers so they’ll warm up...

Socks are a bit of a sore point in this house. I have grey socks mostly, because that colour seemed to go with the blah beige pants I use to have to wear at work and just about any colour of shoes that you care to pick. I have a couple pair of black socks for those special occasions and absolutely no white socks. Maybe the white socks are the grey ones now, but it doesn't really matter.

The kids have black socks as well and apparently, I can’t tell them apart when they’re in the laundry basket to be folded. Honestly, can anyone tell that one black sock doesn't go with another? They’re black, for Heaven’s sake!

city--love.blogspot.com

The kid’s white socks are easier to sort – they have particular dirt patterns ground into the soles, depending on the kid who wore them last. Better yet, because they’re white, I don’t really care. They all go into a basket in the downstairs hallway and I let the kids duke it out for matching pairs.

I just know that if I don’t get socks for Christmas, I am in deep trouble. I have enough to last eleven months and eighteen days, if I’m lucky. Shorter, if I’m doing the laundry for a few weeks by myself. Does anyone know where those odd socks go from the dryer? I've checked the exhaust vent and even installed a sock trap, but I still have nine socks with no matches. I wouldn't mind (or care) if they were black, but no luck.

There was one Christmas when I didn't get any socks at all. Not one pair. I was devastated. It just wasn't Christmas without new socks. Being the quiet type, I made it known in a respectful manner that I was not a happy camper. That means I looked through everyone else’s gifts and stockings for my socks (looking in stockings for socks – how apropos) for about an hour. Then I sulked.

Flash forward to next Christmas. I could not believe the haul I had under the tree. I was quite excited as I dove into the packages. The first – a bundle of socks, nice and fluffy. Excellent! Onto the next gift and once again, some socks wrapped up in a bow. 

Wonderful! The next, another pair of socks. You can see where this is going. By the time I was done, I had twenty-seven pairs, all neatly lined up along the top of the chesterfield. Who knew that pawing through everyone’s stuff would yield this kind of result?!

I tried going through everyone else’s stuff, muttering about a new car with a killer stereo. I’ll let you know how it works next year.

guardian.co.uk