Okay, so socks. Love em, right? I love socks. I wear them around the house. I wear them to bed. I have specific socks that are better for walking. I have probably 40 pairs of socks and it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
Why? Because I also have shitty socks. I have socks I don’t like. I have socks that are too thin, or socks made with non-natural fibers, or socks that seem to crowd my toes, or ankle socks that look okay in the summertime with sneakers, but they are terrycloth inside and they feel like sandpaper if I actually do anything athletic, which is very nearly never, but still. And ankle socks don’t keep my feet or ankles warm, and they are white so I don’t want to wear them around the house because they will alert me to how much cat fur we still have on the floors and/or that we live like wildebeests with dirty floors.
Okay? So I have favorite socks, and I have shitty socks that I don’t like. Which ones do you think I wear most often? That’s right, the shitty socks. I wear the shitty socks because they feel low investment and I feel like I want to “save” my favorite socks. Save them for what?
Well, that’s when my nut brain breaks a little. I don’t know. I don’t know why I save the nice socks. It’s like I want to get through my supply of shitty socks first, and save my favorites for last. I look in my sock drawer and see a riot of cute, soft, colorful lovely socks, and I go for the socks that make me crabby instead. Because I want to “preserve” the nice socks. And the cute socks just seem too cute for just wearing around the house.
By the time I do laundry, my shitty sock supply might run low. And I might have the rare opportunity to luxuriate with a heavenly soft lovely pair of socks. But then I think, “Holy crap, I have to do laundry! I only have my nice socks left!” So the shitty socks get washed and the nice socks stay in the drawer. “For later.”
I did not grow up during the depression, and I do not save ketchup or or sugar packets when I go to restaurants. I don’t have fine china that only comes out for special occasions. But I save my nice socks “for later.” For some indeterminate point in the future. For some other time when my feet might be more worthy than they are now.
My name is Heather, and I am a sock saver.