Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Nine Dollar Socks
We had a “do” the other night to attend, so I dusted off the blazer and dress slacks, and rooted around in the sock drawer for something other than white cotton. Just before I belted out some sarcastic remark about the laundry service in Random Manor – because chicks dig a winning sense of humor, you know – I found an old pair of black dress socks that I hadn’t worn in years.
Not just any pair of black dress socks, but dress hosiery, mind you. The kind that came with little form-fitting bits of tissue stuffed in each sock when purchased, so that they crinkled delightfully in the bag. Decorated with little teddy bears holding a martini glass up the side. Cost nine dollars at the rhymes-with-their-prices-don’t-go-low store. Nine dollars. One pair. $4.50 per sock.
Pulling them out of the drawer, I got a familiar sinking feeling in my heart. You wouldn’t think a pair of socks could be particularly evocative – although for $9 you’d expect them to do something special – but this particular pair recalls a tumultuous time in the Random Family. A time when priorities went askew for awhile, but fortunately landed back in their places, a little battered and bruised, but still operable. Nine dollar socks made sense during this time, which should have been the revelation we needed to set things right, but it took us a couple more years of blundering to get to that place.
So I put them on with just a tinge of apprehension. In Hollywood, the strings would have begun to play swirling sounds and the FX boys would begin earning their paycheck, but in my closet, all was still.
Until the Random Wife shouted up the stairs, “Are you going to knit some socks, or just wear them?”
I shoved those nine dollar socks into a more sensibly-priced pair of loafers bought shortly after those priorities returned home, and shuffled off.
Not just any pair of black dress socks, but dress hosiery, mind you. The kind that came with little form-fitting bits of tissue stuffed in each sock when purchased, so that they crinkled delightfully in the bag. Decorated with little teddy bears holding a martini glass up the side. Cost nine dollars at the rhymes-with-their-prices-don’t-go-low store. Nine dollars. One pair. $4.50 per sock.
Pulling them out of the drawer, I got a familiar sinking feeling in my heart. You wouldn’t think a pair of socks could be particularly evocative – although for $9 you’d expect them to do something special – but this particular pair recalls a tumultuous time in the Random Family. A time when priorities went askew for awhile, but fortunately landed back in their places, a little battered and bruised, but still operable. Nine dollar socks made sense during this time, which should have been the revelation we needed to set things right, but it took us a couple more years of blundering to get to that place.
So I put them on with just a tinge of apprehension. In Hollywood, the strings would have begun to play swirling sounds and the FX boys would begin earning their paycheck, but in my closet, all was still.
Until the Random Wife shouted up the stairs, “Are you going to knit some socks, or just wear them?”
I shoved those nine dollar socks into a more sensibly-priced pair of loafers bought shortly after those priorities returned home, and shuffled off.
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