Before I even begin, you need to know a couple of things:
- I have a lot of socks.
- I am not one of those people who care much about things like “style” and “clothes from this decade.” I am less “fashionista” and more “connoisseur of comfort.”
- You may, quite possibly, be bored by reading what I write if you care a lot about the previously mentioned bullet point.
I’m one of those people that saves things. I have a little box on the shelf in my closet in which I keep socks. Not ALL of my socks, of course: just the ones that have been bereaved of their partners when the dryer has eaten the other.
I am aware that some people throw their single socks away. I just have a hard time with it, myself. Most of my socks are goofy, many of them are holiday specific (I know some of you just shuddered), and I wear them all. Sometimes my socks match my outfit. Sometimes…they don’t. I really don’t care. My students often ask to see which socks I’m wearing, and on those days that I receive things from them, socks are very popular in my gift piles. I guess it’s just kind of a “thing” I have, and it works for me.
Anyway, some of the socks in my single-sock-box have been there for years. I never give up, though I do sometimes ridicule myself (silently) for keeping the box with unwavering faith that my socks will somehow turn up after 5-10 years of being missing. But, I just put my box away, and keep hoping.
Last night, the dream came true. I have had this awesome giraffe sock in my single-sock-box for a long time. I mean a really long time. At least 4 years, I think.
Well, after digging around in my dresser for a pair of pajama pants, I opted for a relic of the past: a pair of Mr. Potato Head pants with pockets. (I told you I was no fashionista.) Well, I slipped those babies on, and what did I find deep in the comfy left pocket?! I’ll show you: