Sock it to me

So, I really like socks.

My husband hates socks--thinks of them as just a necessary evil in part of the shoe-wearing world in which we live.

I, on the other hand, delight in socks.

This was recently hammered home to me when my socks made me angry all day.

See, here's what happened. I have this yellow shirt, one of only two yellow shirts I own, and I thought I'd wear it. I was wearing black pants, so I pulled on my yellow shirt, and because I only have 2 yellow shirts, I don't have yellow socks. I do, however, have socks with gold stripes, which I thought was certainly close enough to be going on with. So I put them on. Then I grabbed my favorite black cardigan. After looking in the mirror, I didn't like the yellow and black. I felt like a fat bee. Not good. So, I switched out for my royal purple cardigan. Again, no good. I'm not quite the person to pull off that color combo. So I decided to change my yellow shirt to a lavender one, wear the purple cardigan, and I was out the door, happy with my wardrobe choices.

That is until I got out of the car at the office and saw my socks.

My black with gold stripes socks.

GOLD! I wasn't even wearing yellow anymore, and here on my feet was this glaring reminder of that fact. Not to mention that I have a plethora of purple everything, including socks. If you haven't gathered by now that purple is my favorite color, you might just be color blind, but I digress.

So all day, I kept catching glimpses of those gold stripes, taunting me. I wanted to rush home to change socks, which is an entirely frivolous idea. I knew exactly which purple socks I wanted (the medium purple ones with the lavender toes & heels). Eventually, when I got home, I did remove the offending socks, which isn't their fault, it's mine. They're not bad socks. They're stripey socks, which as far as socks goes, goes a long way with me. In fact, I put on another pair of stripey socks once I'd taken those stripey socks off--because I'd also taken off my work clothes & put on comfy clothes, so I put on comfy socks, which generally means fuzzy socks, because while I like to go barefoot in the summer to keep a little cooler, it's now less than 70° at night, so I like to wear socks to keep my feet warm.

Although there is a strange temperature curve that happens in my toes while I'm sleeping. While I'm trying to fall asleep, my toes are little ice cubes, as my poor husband can often attest to. Then somewhere in the middle of the night, my toes become tiny furnaces and in order to maintain a happy level of overall warmness, I must uncover them, and stick my feet out into the cold night air, which results in an imperceptible sizzling noise and a sigh of gratification. Of course, that all ususally happens while I'm asleep, so I wake up with one sock on, and one sock somewhere under the covers at the foot of the bed. Changing the sheets is an adventure in the winter, because I'm never quite sure how many lost socks will fall out of the end of the bed...

But I love socks. Tall socks, short socks, fuzzy socks, trouser socks, prints and stripes and patterns and all the colors...

I love socks.