Separated at Birth

Photo credit: shoewawa.com

Holiday forces bestowed upon me knowledge and understanding that I am compelled to share with you:  I now know why we hang a single sock up for Santa to fill on Christmas Eve.  The reason?  Socks are not monogamous.  These twins live their lives determined to differentiate from one another.  Each pair represents the dichotomy of childhood: one part of us longs to stay at home within our parents' watchful gaze, and the other part of us runs away at every chance.  Hanging a single sock up on Christmas Eve began as a way to honor the sock who stays home, and taunt the sock in hiding.

Currently, I possess four sky blue snowflake socks.  None of them match.  I also own singles in stripes of varying colors and solitary anklets in white, black, pink, and yellow.  I have solo knee-highs in red, navy, white, and brown.  There are the lone prints: paisley, monkeys, and gnomes.  Because they share a style, though not color, I often wear the fuzzy warm knee highs as a set; they came in a double pack of caramel and charcoal.  Often, in desperation, I borrow a matched pair from T.  He is wise enough to buy packs of identical socks that can separate without repercussion.

The best decision I ever made was to shun summer socks and to stock up on tights to get me through the winter months.  But if you happen to see me sporting pants, you may want to check out which socks I've decided to pair.  Socks in my wardrobe undertake diverse marriages.