feb 1 - Merino wool socks

Well there they are on my left, crumpled into a casual pile. As I slipped between the sheets last night it was with not a little bit of excitement for the events of this coming morning. As I drifted off to dreamland, I began to doubt a little bit the excitement ahead, after all they are just socks. I did not dream of them. But I woke up refreshed and eager. Normally the socks go on right after I get out of the shower, but this morning I thought I would wait until I was at the computer and could relay the sensations in real time. So I’ve had a cup of coffee, read the Sun-Times, gave Sweetie her medicine and now I am picking up the socks, shaking them a bit, they have a fine feel, and now they are going on my feet. A little more work than a regular pair of socks, kind of have to be fitted, the toes and the heels are a lighter color and have to go just so, but this is not rocket science, and there, they are encasing my feet. Well I suppose they feel fine, but I really have nothing to compare it too. In all my years of wearing socks I can’t recall ever thinking about how they feel. Just now I tried a little walk up and down the hallway, and nothing spectacular there, and just as I’m opening the door, thinking of something I might say, perhaps I might allow myself a slight exaggeration, not so much as to be an outright falsehood, certainly, but perhaps an amusing little touch that might raise the eyebrows of the reader and crinkle the corners of his mouth, so he wouldn’t feel so much like he was wasting his time spending so much of it reading about socks, and someone else’s socks at that. And out dashed Buddy. He had appeared to be asleep, curled up in a chair when I left, but he was right at the door when I opened it, and distracted with thinking up an amusing little dollop, I was no match for his feint and fake and he was out the door, as free as the wind blows, as free as the grass grows, were there wind or grass in the hallway which there are not, and he dares not follow his heart as far as the elevator foyer. The easy solution is to prop the door open, walk out to him and wave my arms at him going “Yee, Yee, Yee,” which he just finds scary or embarrassing or whatever, but he runs right in the door. But, I don’t know, didn’t seem like the thing to do on the first day of merino wool socks, so I just strolled down the hallway with him and when we came back to the door, I just did a little “Yee,” kind of joking, kind of ironic, like I was Falsetto Boy at the end of one of his concerts, teasing the audience, and in he scooted. So there we are. I will wear the socks all day, and take them off when I retire, and I don’t see how I can avoid the smell test. You may be assured, Gentle Reader, that I shall keep you informed.

Merino wool socks - Jan 31 Morning

The merino wool socks sit on the table right now, all done up in cardboard and little plastic thingies. Tomorrow at this time they will be encasing my feet and the story will begin, but for now we shall go in for the backstory.

At the onset of our recent automotive trip from Kansas City to St Louis and then to Memphis and back, Debbie announced that she had a gift for me. But then she didn’t give it to me. So this is, you know, how you build up suspense, how you prepare the stage for a delightful surprise, but when the curtain finally rose, it was a pair of socks. Socks. What was the underwear store closed? I tossed them with disdain into the backseat.

“You know, they’re merino wool,” she said hopefully as the miles rolled by.

“Everything is made of something,” I replied, folding my arms and staring stoically at the road, and the subject was closed.

Until it came up in St Louis on the way back when we were dining in Maplewood with Gumbah and Sadie and Falsetto Boy. Oh Falsetto Boy, the attention always shifts at the mention of his name. You had dinner with Falsetto Boy? What’s he like? A very fine young man, a vegetarian, “I would not harm a fly.” he said after ordering his veggie burger, but then he reconsidered, “Well maybe a fly.”

Anyway somehow the subject of the socks came up and their composition was considered. “Merino wool?” Falsetto Boy remarked, “Aren’t those the socks that you can wear forever and they don’t smell so you never have to wash them?” Falsetto Boy is very well read and has his thumb on the pulse of the tubes of the internet.

I paused in mid-chew of my grilled cheese. Don’t smell, never have to wash? You could put them on at the end of flip flop season and wear them clear till it came again? You would never have to endure the soul-crushing boredom of sorting your socks? I was all ears.

I noticed that Gumbah and Sadie pooh poohed this a bit, like maybe all winter was a little extreme. Well fine people, raised a fine son, but sometimes just a wee bit fuddy duddy.

“We don’t go in for that xtreme stuff do we Ma Bah?” he asks and she replies, “No we don’t Pa Bah.”

But me, you know, I am a man of adventure, and right at this very moment, sixteen short hours from feb. Ready to plunge into the merino sock adventure, do you dare to follow me?