Both the Mister and I like socks. We each have a broad assortment; mine considerably larger than his but still. We’re in agreement that socks are not just for chilly weather any more. They can make a statement or just be fun. For the most part, we’re of one happy mind about the whole sock thing.
We differ wildly, however, in the manner of which we don our socks. Oh sure, we both put them on one sock at a time but the manner of selecting the socks-of-the-day varies broadly and deeply.
I’m a grab-and-go kinda person; he’s a matchy-matchy kind.
Mine are in a jumbled pile. His are rolled up in neat little balls. Yes, I enable his carefully matched socks. And yes, he looks the other way when I wear one orange sock and one blue sock. Or maybe one with a cat motif, the other with zebras.
Mine come from exotic places throughout the year. Thoughtful and funny friends, on-line sources like The Joy of Socks, and funky little shops. My collection is fresh and fashionable.
He goes to Belk’s. Every five years or so.
So what would our children say about all that? That’s just the way they roll? The same but different? Way too late to change any part of that. Don’t even think about it. We all tried. Look where it got us.
Works for me. And, apparently, for him. So, just go ahead and sock it to us. We can take it.