I. Love. Socks.

I love them. I love them with a pure and true passion. Sadly, socks do not often love me back. Their elastic cuts into my water retaining ankles, or they fall down when I walk. They get holes in them. Sometimes they get holes in them and slide down while I walk while cutting into my water retaining ankles.

I love them nonetheless. I had a colleague at my last job (Shawn) who had the most awesome socks ever. Awesomeness. I felt jealous and went about looking for socks that would have 1/10th the sparkle of his. But no, that was not to be, mostly because I am not sure about colour and pattern and how to match them to my socks without looking like someone who got rejected from Northern Reflections. On him, fancy socks look hip. On me, they tend to just look like I never learned how to dress.

It was in this sock quest that I mentioned to my friend Stephanie that I wished I knew how to knit. There’s a knitter whose blog I follow who is always knitting socks. They’re like portable therapy for her. She doesn’t even use a pattern most of the time. It kills me. It kills me because the socks she knits look so darned comfy. And, so colourful!

Steph came to New York to visit me in October, and she brought with her a pair of socks that she knit for me. They’re colourful and striped and they fit my feet perfectly and they don’t slide down when I walk and they don’t dig in to my water retaining ankles. In short, they’re pretty much the awesomest socks ever to be put on these feet. I. Love. Them.

You know what I love most about them? Steph heard me say that I loved colourful socks and that I wished I had rainbow socks and she made them for me. That, kids, that is love. And I love them right back. And their maker, too. Every time I see those socks in my drawer, on my feet, or in my laundry hamper, I’m going to think of her. Every time I take them off and go “oooh, those are good socks”, I will smile.

I’m taking a knitting class in January because I am determined to make my own super awesome socks. Then hopefully I’ll be able to get my friend Shawn to come over and match socks to outfits so that I can look as good as he does, sporting some fancy foot coverings. The world may have been run by men in black socks and black shoes, but I am not a man, and the world should not only be run by them. How about we have people who run the world in all kinds of shoes and socks and boots and tights and leggings, if that’s what floats their boat? (As long as it isn’t sandals and socks, because that’s really just not right.)

Who’s with me?