Is it my feet?


I can NOT be the only one with this issue. It seems that unless I purchase “running socks,” from a “runner’s store,” at a “runner’s sock price,” which resembles the cost of a car payment, I will have a problem.

My morning tends to get off to a good start with a shower and shave, in opposite order, but “shave and shower” doesn’t have the same ring. Trust me, I’m a writer. You debate this? I write blogs read all across the planet (thanks, good friend, Rick from Laos, for allowing me to proudly say this).

So, sticking to the topic, my shower, shave and selection of the morning’s outfit ends with the pulling on of one sock per foot. Yes, just one single sock. I live in Holland, but don’t wear wooden shoes. One pair is adequate.

If I listen closely, I can almost hear a giggle, in a “sock voice.” Come on. Certainly you’ve heard a sock giggle before. Every time you open the dryer and remove the snuggly, warm clothes, and pile them in the laundry basket, you don’t hear the subtle snicker of a sock or two (not matching), that have found a place in your dryer to hide?

Well, I believe I hear the same chuckle as I put my socks on in the morning. On a particular morning of clarity, I can swear I hear one of them say “sucker!” As the bigger person, I choose to ignore the dig. Instead, I simply place a shoe over the sock to stifle its mockery and arise to continue my day.

At first, nothing is amiss. I descend my stairs to the main floor of my humble abode, turn a corner passing through my dining room into my kitchen. This is the point where the daily annoyance begins to occur. I feel, usually beginning with my left foot, a slight slipping of my sock, off of my heel. Being good at denial, I pretend its my imagination, or if I’m in a really good mood, meaning I’m not out of frozen waffles, I’ll go with an optimistic approach. I tell myself that the sock, which has slipped off my heel, will change its mind and climb back OVER my heel, where every well behaved sock should reside.

A half hour or so later, I realize my optimism is misguided. Rather than doing the right thing, the rebel sock has now encouraged the OTHER sock to do the same.

I don’t give up on products easily. If I’m not careful, my home can become a museum of poor or nonfunctioning products. Remote controls with sticky buttons, cupboard doors that don’t close tightly, pencil sharpeners that have lost their “edge”...

I finally reached my limit on this sock issue. I sorted my socks into three stacks (see below). The bottom pile consists of the socks I wear for work. Close examination will reveal some of the colors of paint and stain I’ve used in recent years. While I believe these socks WANT to perform well, they really don’t. Congrats to them, though, for staying on the job long enough to become VERY discolored. Or perhaps the accolades should go to their owner.

The top pile was purchased in two sets of 6, equaling a DOZEN pairs! That was a big day in my life. I was confident this was a wise investment because the previously purchased middle stack actually, kind of, in a small way, performed like a sock should. Unfortunately, while they appear to be the same socks, they are not. I purchased twelve pairs of ankle resisters....

I’ve recently purchased six pairs of socks that seem to be working, so far. We’ll see how it goes. As a result, the bottom pile of socks is headed to a waste basket. The middle pile is being demoted to “work sock” status, while the top pile will be used for dusting, sink/shower cleaning....


I hope you appreciate this analysis of footwear, and find it beneficial. I’d love to hear some of you have similar frustrations in this realm. If so, sock it to me in the comment section.