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On socks... #thread
Socks have a lifecycle that is full of triumph and tragedy. A person buys a set of athletic socks, or dress socks, or whatever other kind of socks come in a substantial bundle and are largely interchangeable...
Because only some kind of sick freak buys the packages where each sock has to go with a specific mate.
And if you're smart you make a decision early in life to go either black or blue or dark grey with dress socks, and you stick to it.
And if you're smart you make a decision early in life to go either black or blue or dark grey with dress socks, and you stick to it.
And for a good long time you have a good relationship with this community of socks. One may get lost, one may get misplaced, but you still have 23 others and it's not as if you need to wear 12 pairs of socks each day so what does it matter?
And then one day you injure a sock. Maybe you step on a nail, or the cat gets hold of it, or you put it on wrong and accidentally tear it... doesn't matter.
You treasure that sock for a while, and hope that it somehow will be nursed back to health, and maybe wear it two or three more times... but the relationship has run its course.
Eventually, you have to discard the sock. Maybe you do so violently, tearing it and turning it into a rag or just throwing it away, so that all of the temptation to wear it one more time is ended.
So now you're down to, say, 22 socks. Or maybe 21 socks. And maybe you have a system with lost socks like a designated Lost Sock Drawer, and the odd sock gets thrown in there. But doesn't matter; still plenty of socks.
Eventually another sock gets lost, somehow. Yet another hits a snag. Maybe you find another one that's been lost since you visited your cousin in October (note: don't visit your cousin until you've both been vaccinated).
But the trend is inevitably downward. Your community of socks is progressively smaller. You cannot undo this. You cannot turn back time.
You'd like to, but you can't.
And then one day you notice... there's a small hole in the toe or the heel of one of the socks. Doesn't really affect the utility of the sock, but you notice it and you know what's coming.
The wear is uneven because of course it is; unless you're some kind of weirdo you don't keep track of how much each sock in the community is worn. Some wear out faster than others.
Eventually, you appreciate that a worn sock is no longer useful. Your big toe pokes through, or the ball of your foot is uncovered, or your heel is naked. That sock must be disposed of.
But it's okay because you still have maybe 15 socks. Plus the reserve one that you keep in the designated Lost Sock Drawer. You pull that puppy out of mothballs and continue along with your business.
But socks go the way of all flesh, and soon others develop signs of wear. Maybe it takes months, maybe it takes years, but at some point it becomes a struggle to pair the socks.
You make do, as best you can. Maybe you have nine socks now. One sock is often deposited in the designated Lost Sock Drawer, but it never stays there for long.
As the socks become more threadbare, you start to use the situationally. Maybe just for a quick walk; maybe just because your feet are cold; maybe you need to ice your feet and you want just one sock for the sake of comfort.
But there comes a time where there are only four usable socks. Then one of them develops a hole, or you hit a snag. And now you only have one pair of socks.
Hopefully at some point during this process you have purchased additional socks.
But the tide cannot be held back. Three socks eventually becomes two socks.
And you treasure those last two socks. You wear them sparingly. Maybe for your favorite jog or with your favorite suit.
And one day, when you can no longer lie to yourself, you recognize that one of these two socks is too far gone.
And the last sock, the very last sock... you put that sock in the designated Lost Sock Drawer, because you know that maybe, just maybe, whether it's under the bed or under the couch or at the office or in your luggage or in your cousin's den... that sock might have a mate.
And that, my friends, is how a community of socks dies, and how your designated Lost Sock Drawer gets filled with lots of old threadbare socks that do not now and will never have mates.
Fin.
