This morning as I walked from the bus to McDonald's to get a hot cuppa joe, I had a very peculiar sensation in the area of my left ankle and foot. Slowly but surely, my sock was creeping down into my shoe. They're cute socks I'm wearing--dark gray with some nice dark colored flowers on them. Not boring, but not noticeable really either. This is the type of sock I prefer (although truth be told, I don't care for socks, I'd rather be barefoot).
Anyway, Mr. Left Sock had decided that maybe it would be warmer for him if ALL of him was down around the arch of my foot, and so that's where he went. This was not a comfortable situation for me. While I knew that no one could see this, since my socks were covered by my pants, I found myself a bit embarassed. Because I knew why Mr. Left Sock was doing this as soon as I got over the discomfort of the whole thing.
Mr. & Mrs. Gray Flowered Sock have been with me since, oh, my first year of college. And for those of you not keeping track, that would make Mr. & Mrs. GFS about TWELVE YEARS OLD.
Oh jesus. How did I become this woman who wears socks that are old enough to be in seventh grade?! I mean, they're not holey or anything... I have enough socks that none of them get worn *that* often. But obviously they've been worn and washed enough times that there's no such thing as elastic in them anymore. They have no interest in staying up a couple inches above my ankles where they belong. Mr. & Mrs. Gray Flowered Sock have done their duty, dammit, and they are REFUSING to stay up so that I am forced to finally put them to rest, give them the peace they deserve.
And so, since my day is done and I'm home where there are younger, more spry socks for me to warm my toes with, I will now be sending Mr. & Mrs. GFS to Sock Heaven. I intend to go through my sock drawer and lay all of my socks from college to rest, as a matter of fact. Because I'm a working woman. I can afford to buy myself new socks at least every ten years.
So long, dear friends, you've served me well.