And now, a word about socks.

Brought to you by Guest Blogger Kim.

I am a woman of simple pleasures. 

 

Actually, anybody who’s eaten a meal with me or worked on my project team at work or school knows that I’m quite particular (and vocal) about how I like things.  But still – all the fuss wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the sincere pleasure I get out of what I like: a well-shot film, a mug of hot chocolate, a creative turn of phrase. 

 

Many of my…preferences…have to do with food.  For example, I detest the feel of raw chicken.  When I moved into my first apartment and could no longer rely on my mother or my college cafeteria to prepare my chicken, my older and wiser (and terribly accepting.  Maybe slightly mocking) sister gave me tongs.  Multiple pairs.   I also frequently ask the waiter at restaurants if there are onions in various dishes before I will order.  And while I love the taste of many flavors of soda, I insist on making sure it’s flat before I drink it – the bubbles hurt my mouth. 

 

Another of my well-known compulsions made it to the top of my Christmas list this year: socks.  As a perpetually cold person who grew up in New England (where there are two seasons: Summer and Cold), socks have been a constant comfort in my life since before I can remember.  With the exception of four annual months of barefootedness, I live my life in socks.  Seriously – I sleep in socks as soon as nightly temperatures dip below 60, I wear socks in the safety of my office at work (where Important People can’t see my lack of uncomfortable Grown-Up Shoes).  I even carry an emergency spare pair in my backpack.  And I change into new socks any time I take my shoes off; I have to – socks worn with shoes get all sweaty and gross.  Who wants to wear damp, gross socks? 

 

Consequently, I have quite the sock collection.  Some of my favorites are what I think of as Specialty Socks – a low-cut pair with 3D ladybugs on the back, right over the Achilles tendon (great for preventing blisters in new shoes), and a pair of thick wool booty socks with a buttoned strap over the bridge of the foot.  But I also have quite a few pairs of plain old white ankle socks for purely functional reasons – jogging, bike-riding, keeping warm at night. 

 

The problem with maintaining such an extensive collection to feed this simple pleasure is the high turnover rate.  Growing up, my mother – the epitome of The Cool Mom – enforced only one rule about my sock fetish: If it had holes, it had to be replaced.  Which is why the number one entry on my Christmas list this year was “SOCKS!”  Because being a grad student has taken its toll on my collection.  There’s more pacing in my life.  I am in serious need of a sock wardrobe overhaul.

 

My sister’s reaction was classic – Gracie and Bee would have a ball picking out new pairs of socks to send to their Crazy Auntie Kim.  But she threw in the stipulation that I have to explain to them why I am so overjoyed at receiving a big box full of socks!  Auntie Kim’s thinking?  I’d love to be a part of teaching them to do what makes them happy and who cares if it’s not what everyone else demands?  After all – there are many worse vices than compulsive clean-sock-wearing and avoidance of things cooked with onions. 

Tags: family, Christmas, OCD, socks