Sock People.

I would like to begin by acknowledging the fact that I have failed at BEDA. Better luck next year.

I took another trip to the Serengeti today. After which, stopped at a friends house and grabbed a glass of water. As it turns out, I take these ceremonious trips to the wild when I find myself in need of a great distraction or to clear my head. And on this day, it just so happened that I needed to do both.

After having arrived safely at home (not that there was ever any danger present), I took a bath and found myself in need of socks. To my great astonishment (not really), I could not open my sock drawer as it was filled to the brim with socks and would not budge. Each of my hands found themselves a nice grip on the two handles and I set against the drawer all of my weight. With a crash and rattle of all of the trinkets on my chest of drawers, my butt hit the floor and I watched overhead a terrific fireworks display of socks, some, barely missing the pirouetting blades of my ceiling fan. It was now time to sort.

Each sock had the option of going into one of three piles. The ‘my brother’s socks’ pile, the ‘ripped or otherwise not a sock’ pile, or the ‘keep’ pile. The first few socks went into the ‘brother’s’ pile as the smell they omitted indicated that was where they needed to be. Then I started running across holiday socks, given to me by classmates at christmas parties or off-beat aunties. I ended up having to start a separate pile for socks with a Spongebob theme, which quickly turned into a mountain. I also started a pile for my argyled, striped and or polka-dotted socks. Oh, I should also mention that the white, school-uniform-appropriate socks, go their own pile too. About the ‘ripped or otherwise not a sock’ pile, I found a great many ‘not a sock’ things to place there. Belts. Underwear. Fabric book covers. Shoe laces. Parts of my shin-guards (which almost makes sense that they would have been in the drawer to begin with as the shin is relatively close to the foot).

And then it hit me. Socks are like people. Just as each sock has its own funky pattern, each person has his or her own skin.  Some of us have been worn down to where our very last fibers are clinging on for dear life. Some of us have a mate, while some of us float unescorted around the sock drawer. Hell, some of us even have holes in us. Socks are also like humans in that each one of us feels different. Admit it, you have those socks that you always sport on cold winter afternoons. You have those friends too. Lastly, all people, and socks, deserve a chance.