My socks are a major point of disappointment for me. Since college, since med school, no residency, I’ve been carrying along with me some of the same pairs of odd, tired socks. Most of them should be just taken out to pasture. Some, have lost their partner, and like a widower staring out at an unforgiving sea, waiting for her fisherman husband to return, have yet to give up the hope that someday they’ll be reunited. We all know, the other sock is not coming home.
My husband has a thing for socks with odd patterns. Maybe it’s cute for guys, but I can’t quite pull it off. My favorite socks are from Roots in American giant. Neutral. Simple. Tough. My husband thinks they’re ugly but I like them because they’re soft and return to their original shape after washing, and have a way of pulling moisture away from your feet Many other stocks I have some I’ll make your feet sweatier and oddly slippery. I don’t trust them.
But, because I can’t seem to let some things go, I’ll keep a few pairs of even socks I hate. Why? I don’t know. A squirrel part of my brain thinks, despite them cluttering up my space, they might just come in handy during a hard winter.
What would I do if I could do anything? Start over- that’s easy. Burn all of the socks.Or toss out, or have to be recycled, any pair of socks that for reasons I can’t explain, make me sad on the inside. Most of my socks fit in this category. Some I stole from my parents, who also have terrible taste in socks.
Nobody teaches you this stuff.
As I stare at the mess I made in attempting to organize my closet, I see some socks have made the chopping block that shouldn’t have. But at least the widower’s and the pairs that should’ve been compassionately euthanized a long time ago will find rest.
Men will have likely no idea what I’m talking about, but men don’t have to think about anklet socks, no show socks, athletic socks, knee highs, tights, leggings, and compression socks. Why do we even have to have anklet socks for flats? Isn’t life complicated enough?
I’m not sure when the next time I’ll wear flats frequently will be. Whenever I can I avoid it, and I’m at the point in residency where I simply cannot care about being liked or appreciate for my looks. My son lets out a small whine, irritated by the light of the closet that’s disturbing his sleep.
I bulldoze all of them in a pile and give up to cuddle with him instead- my indecision will be there for me in the morning.
Med-Derm, MD 