Yesterday as I was folding my 756875 basket of laundered clothes, the random thought regarding socks popped into my head. All sorts of sock thoughts went zipping through my mind, and I thought to myself, "Hold on to this one. Hold tight. Blog it. Write it down. Socks, socks, socks" Then as I went about my evening I kept saying to myself, "Socks. Socks. Socks." So here I sit this morning in front of my computer determined to blog and the first thing that pops into my mind is, "Socks." And I'm thrilled. Thrilled because I've remembered! So that's the entry for today. Socks.
Cara's Musings about Socks.
My husband's socks are always usually inside out. Every time I do the laundry the socks are always usually inside out. Who does this? I don't pull my socks downward from the ankle so that they come off of my feet inside out. If I don't do that, why should others? Of course, I don't wear socks that go up past my ankle, but if I did I wouldn't take them off that way. Or, if I happened to end up with my socks that way, I would right them. My youngest does the same thing with her socks. They are always usually inside out.
Me: "I don't want to put my hands inside of these socks to turn them right side out. It's gross."
Darcy: "Gross? They're clean! It's not like you're doing that when they are dirty. Plus, they are suppose to be inside out. That's the dirty part. Now it's clean."
I don't care. I know it makes sense, but I can't wrap my head around it. I hate them inside out, and so I leave them like that. My husband doesn't care. He says he'll wear his socks inside or outside and it doesn't matter to him. And he does. If I bundled up his inside out socks together and put them in his drawer, he wears them inside out. That's weird too to me. Who does that? Children maybe, but middle aged men? My theory is that when he takes them off again they will now be the way they should be, right? Yeah. They aren't.
My socks are always gone after they are laundered. Poof. Gone. Disappeared. How is that possible? My favorite socks ever were sold at JC Penney. The only colors they sold these socks in were black and gray. That's it. Black and gray. I thought it a sign since I wear black most of the time, and when I'm not wearing black, gray goes with everything else. I bought hoards of these socks, but now I'm down to one, count that...ONE, pair of black socks. I use to have 958 pairs of these black socks, but now I have ONE. Where are the others? I'm frantic with thoughts of where these socks have gone; thieves broke into my house and stole them, puppeteers have broken into my house and stolen them, my washing machine only eats this brand, they are in someone else's sock drawer. But they aren't. I've checked. I check the other sock drawers 923945 times a day some days when I'm desperate. The really rotten thing is that JC Penney's doesn't sell those socks any more, and I have no memory of the brand, and I can't find another brand that fits me as well as that one did. All I have left beside that ONE pair is several gray pairs. I'm afraid to wear them for fear of....(see above list).
Some sock designer finally got smart. Knowing that there are washing machines out there that devour socks, and knowing that kids out there lose socks every day, they designed non-matching socks. I have yet to find these for adults, but in kids/teen socks they are everywhere. Pairs of socks that don't match. You buy them in bulk and each sock is different. Different. They have the same various color scheme, but they don't match. AT ALL. It's brilliant actually. It's carefree. What to wear? Who cares? Grab some socks. It is ingenious, and I wish I had thought of it.
But the problem for me, is it drives me nuts when it comes time to match them into nice little sock balls. I launder the socks, and then I stare at the pile in the basket. My OCD of organization kicks in. Socks are matched up and twisted into one another so that they are together in a somewhat ball the way my mother taught me. I realized yesterday that I was spending way too much time coordinating Darcy's socks so that they at least looked like they matched. When the basket is full of multi-colored socks and none of them look match-able I'm crazy. What the hell? Why would she wear a bright fushia pink sock with a bright lime green sock? I can't twist them together. I just can't. So I pile all of her socks into a hill on top of her folded laundry and put them on her dresser. Yesterday, I realized that by doing that I'm contributing to her madness. I thought about going into her sock drawer, under the pretense of looking for my missing black socks, and twisting all of her socks into somewhat balls according to a color scheme that would sit right with me. But then I realized that maybe doing so would make me even more crazy.
Socks are never the size they claim. I have big feet. Big. Feet. I need socks for big feet, but socks nowadays come in three sizes; small, medium, and large. They specify these sizes with numbers that supposedly coordinate to one's shoe size. So the socks that would match up with me would be large, 6-10. Who are they kidding? Why would a person who wears a size 6 shoe need a sock that fits a person who wears a size 10 shoe? Does that make any sense? I've learned that socks are always smaller than what they say they are and so when my eldest needed socks I always went one size above what it said she should wear. Because if you think I have big feet, whoa, you should see hers! The problem now that she is grown is that size 10 is it. You wear a size 11 shoe you are out of luck people. Out. Of. Luck. They don't make women's size 11 socks. If I want socks, I have to go into the men's department and purchase athletic socks.
Writing about this got me curious so I did what I always do when I'm curious; I turned to the Internet. I found a site titled Sockspert, clever, huh, and while they didn't explain sock sizes any better than the rest of the sites I found, they did offer socks in women's socks, size large, 10-13. Of course, if I want to have colored socks, and why wouldn't I Miss-Wear-All-Black-Because-You-Think-You-Look-Slimmer, then I have to fork over $9.60 FOR ONE PAIR OF SOCKS. Nine dollars for socks that will most likely be stolen by robbers when they break into my house? No thank you.
Conclusion I came too while writing this? This is why Floridians wear flip flops.
But the problem for me, is it drives me nuts when it comes time to match them into nice little sock balls. I launder the socks, and then I stare at the pile in the basket. My OCD of organization kicks in. Socks are matched up and twisted into one another so that they are together in a somewhat ball the way my mother taught me. I realized yesterday that I was spending way too much time coordinating Darcy's socks so that they at least looked like they matched. When the basket is full of multi-colored socks and none of them look match-able I'm crazy. What the hell? Why would she wear a bright fushia pink sock with a bright lime green sock? I can't twist them together. I just can't. So I pile all of her socks into a hill on top of her folded laundry and put them on her dresser. Yesterday, I realized that by doing that I'm contributing to her madness. I thought about going into her sock drawer, under the pretense of looking for my missing black socks, and twisting all of her socks into somewhat balls according to a color scheme that would sit right with me. But then I realized that maybe doing so would make me even more crazy.
Socks are never the size they claim. I have big feet. Big. Feet. I need socks for big feet, but socks nowadays come in three sizes; small, medium, and large. They specify these sizes with numbers that supposedly coordinate to one's shoe size. So the socks that would match up with me would be large, 6-10. Who are they kidding? Why would a person who wears a size 6 shoe need a sock that fits a person who wears a size 10 shoe? Does that make any sense? I've learned that socks are always smaller than what they say they are and so when my eldest needed socks I always went one size above what it said she should wear. Because if you think I have big feet, whoa, you should see hers! The problem now that she is grown is that size 10 is it. You wear a size 11 shoe you are out of luck people. Out. Of. Luck. They don't make women's size 11 socks. If I want socks, I have to go into the men's department and purchase athletic socks.
Writing about this got me curious so I did what I always do when I'm curious; I turned to the Internet. I found a site titled Sockspert, clever, huh, and while they didn't explain sock sizes any better than the rest of the sites I found, they did offer socks in women's socks, size large, 10-13. Of course, if I want to have colored socks, and why wouldn't I Miss-Wear-All-Black-Because-You-Think-You-Look-Slimmer, then I have to fork over $9.60 FOR ONE PAIR OF SOCKS. Nine dollars for socks that will most likely be stolen by robbers when they break into my house? No thank you.
Conclusion I came too while writing this? This is why Floridians wear flip flops.
No comments:
Post a Comment