My Favorite Pair of Socks

Today, where I am in Massachusetts, the weather outside is frightful. I just checked my phone, and it said eight degrees. Talk about burr-rrrr-rrr-rrrrr (that’s a shivering noise if you couldn’t tell or you’re from a non-shivering part of the country).

It’s so cold that if you poured milk on the sidewalk, it would turn into ice cream. But you wouldn’t even want to eat it because it would just make you colder. At least it would be cool to watch though, and then you could just bring it home and put it in the freezer for a warmer day.

But today, the cold won’t bother me anyway. Why? Because I have my favorite socks on, that’s why. And nothing stops me when I’m wearing these bad boys.

I have never worn a sock that more perfectly fits my feet. All the way from the toes to above the ankle, I feel perfectly covered and secure. You know that saying “fits like a glove?” Well they can change it. It should be “fits like Dylan Woods’ gray socks.”

It’s not as easy to remember if you don’t know me, but it’s certainly more accurate. When was the last time you put on a pair of gloves and thought “Wow! These really fit nicely!” For me, never. Gloves either fit just fine, or you can barely squeeze them on because they’re the same ones you wore in fifth grade but don’t want to throw away because you caught a touchdown with them in the lunch recess Super Bowl.

These socks are a knight’s armor. They hug my ankles like newborn puppies cling to their mother. It’s like someone stole my feet while I was sleeping, used them to hand-craft perfectly fitting socks at the sock factory, returned my feet before I even noticed, and changed my life forever with these wonderful foot mittens. How generous of them.

For me and these socks, it was love from the first time I put them on, and it’s easy to remember the first time since it was just a month ago. My grandmother gave me these socks for Christmas (by the way, thanks a billion Grammy), and even after only a few wears I can tell that we’ll be best buds for life.

I’ll throw their bachelor party (pairs of socks get married to other pairs of socks) and they’ll throw mine. I’ll give them a loan when they finally decide to start that deli they’re always talking about, and they’ll come pick me up when I get a flat tire. We’ll be there for each other. Always.

Every week with these socks, I go through a bittersweet journey. Obviously, the sweet part is getting to wear them for a whole day. It feels like I’m walking on clouds from the time I get out of the shower and get dressed to when I need to switch to jammies at night.

And no, I don’t wear socks to bed. If you do, then I have some questions, the main one being, literally, how do you sleep at night? My feet would get so sweaty, I don’t understand how you do it.

But the bitter part is taking off the socks before bed and putting them with all the rest of my dirty clothes. Every week, I feel like I’m diminishing the socks by putting them with all the plain old T-shirts and pants.

And even worse, throughout the week, I pile more and more inferior laundry on top of them. If only the socks could teach the others how to fit my body as well as they do. If only they could run a snugness seminar or coziness class.

It’s insulting to diminish a garment so clearly superior to the rest of my warbdrobe to a shared laundry bag. However, I fear that if I put them in a separate area, I may forget to wash them along with the rest of my clothes. That would be a disaster.

A little bit of context: I do laundry every Monday. That usually means I wear the socks the next morning, Tuesday morning, because when I see the socks back in my drawer, I can’t resist putting them on the first chance I get.

A week feels long enough without my cozy whoazies, so there’s no need to put off our reunion any longer. Like if you’re the Hulk, wouldn’t you want to turn into the Hulk as often as you could? Once your battery reached 100 percent Hulkness, you unplug yourself from the outlet and get that Hulk party started, right?***

But this week, for whatever reason, I waited all the way until today, Friday, to put on the baddest socks on the planet. I don’t know how I forgot about my darlings from Tuesday to Thursday, but I’m a little glad I did. On Fridays I’m not as busy, so I had plenty of time to write this up, staring longingly at my socks during the whole process.

And one more thing. I know what you might be thinking: “Why don’t you just wear the socks more often than once a week? They can’t get that dirty. Or why don’t you just buy another pair, or even six more pairs, of the same socks so your feet can feel like a million bucks all the time?

No. No no no no no. If you thought that, then you don’t know how any of this works. How could these be my special favorite socks if I had seven pairs? You can’t overindulge in your favorite clothes, or favorite anything for that matter, or else they lose everything that gives them that power.

I wouldn’t get the same boost from my socks if wore them every day, duh. All you can do is enjoy that one day and feverishly look forward to the next time you get to slip on the sweet silk from heaven.

P.S. Like everyone else, I’m sure, I also have a favorite pair of underwear. But I feel like that wouldn’t be appropriate to write about, right? No one wants to read that, right? Well, maybe they do. I don’t know.

***I know this isn’t how the Hulk actually works. But admit it, it would be cool if it did. Imagine in The Avengers movies if they had to find an outlet for the Hulk every time he wanted to go green, and he had a little plug come out of his pants. Actually, you know what? That sounds really lame. Nevermind.