Joy of Socks

I love socks. I have a lot of socks. Two large drawers full of them. In various colors, patterns, weaves, heights and weights. I have new socks and socks that are older than my sons. I have socks for holidays and celebrations and socks with toes. I have socks with cats on them, socks embellished with chili peppers, and socks bearing the image of Tinkerbell. I even have a Halloween pair that glows in the dark. I probably have enough socks to last me for the rest of my life even if I never buy another pair. But I can't resist going down the sock aisle in any store in search of a pair that I don't possess. When I find a sock clearance bin I'm in heaven. The only thing better than scoring socks in a new, unique color or style is getting them at a bargain price. I have a pair of red knee-highs festooned with bright green Christmas trees. My sister gave them to me more than half my life ago but since they only get worn a couple of times in December each year I would think they still have a good 20 years left to go. This may shock you, but I actually own a couple of pairs of plain, white socks. I still don't know how they got there! Most likely in a three pair bundle, the normal run-of-the-mill pair sandwiched between the cute, festive, colorful ones. The gene for sock addiction doesn't seem to have passed to either of my children. One son wears standard white cotton crew socks, the other wears the heather gray version of the same sock. I must say that this has made laundry easier since their feet have been of a similar size most of the past ten years. I even have a cat with socks. White socks. No surprise. He's a guy.