A productive morning. While the car was getting something expensive done to stop it from leaking power steering fluid, I walked to the mall and bought myself some socks. Yep, it's an exciting and glamorous life I lead.
I need socks because my boys keep taking mine. Only a few months ago I had a drawer full of them. Nothing fancy -- just plain gray and black sport socks. One by one (actually, two by two) they disappeared. Every now and then I'd catch a glimpse of one of them peeping out at me from the top of a shoe.
Hey, I'd say. That's my sock.
Yeah, Ed would say. (He seems to be the chief culprit.) I ran out of clean ones. I didn't think you'd mind.
And I don't mind. Except that as of a few days ago my sock drawer was empty.
I've tried buying him socks, but he hates shopping. It's easier if you buy them, and I take them from you, he says.
So this morning I dropped my car off and went out and bought nine pairs of socks from the local Zellers. They are ankle length -- shorter than the ones in the picture (which I chose because the model looks so much like me). They were on special, which made me feel pretty good. Adding to my good mood, the power steering leak did NOT require a 400.00 replacement part but only a twenty-five cent squirt of glue. That saving alone will keep me and Ed in socks for the next fifteen years.
While on the subject (and I don't visit it very often) I want to ask you: is there a nicer feeling than pulling on a new pair of socks? Mostly I like clothes that are well worn. New underwear doesn't do much for me. New shirts always feel itchy, and new shoes take some working in. But for some reason a brand new pair of sport socks makes me want to break into a buck and wing. A cheap way to feel good. I'd buy socks more often, except that I hate shopping almost as much as Ed does.