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.