Socks

I dislike winter.

Not for  any of the usual reasons.   Not for the bitter cold, snow, sleet, winds.   No.

For Socks.    I dislike winter because of socks.

Don’t get me wrong, I love socks.   Soft, warm,impossible to find  fuzzy knee socks.

I have a favorite pair, bought years ago.   They fit, they stay up, they don’t bunch at the toe.   One pair.

I spend a great deal of time on a sock hunt.   Like a great safari but the big game is the perfect pair of socks.   I hunt online , in large stores, small stores , anywhere that might be hiding that perfect animal.

I have purchased many pair of socks looking for another perfect pair.   None, not one, measure up.    They stretch, they itch, they bunch.  The seams rub my toes.   They are too tight at the calf, too loose at the calf, too long, too short, too warm, not warm enough.

In the meantime, every time I wash my perfect pair I say a little prayer to the laundry gods that they will both come out of the dryer.

I’ve had to sacrifice several pairs to appease the gods but so far they haven’t taken my special pair.

If they ever choose to eat one of my favorites , I will be forced to move somewhere I can wear flip flops in the winter.

Until then, I’ll keep hunting.

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