Losing Socks
Saturday, February 14th, 2009
Losing things is never fun. But when those things are your first pair (I stress the word “pair”. They were actually my third and fourth socks, but the first two weren’t a pair and one was freakishly large–even for my feet) of handknit socks? It’s terrible.
I didn’t know that they were missing for a long time. That’s because I knit them during the first few weeks of summer. No one in their right mind would wear wool socks when it’s so hot that they might cause a heat stroke. So I did what any self-respecting knitter would do–and threw them onto a pile of stuff.
About a month ago, I remembered these socks. I also vaguely remembered which pile I threw them on. But even after moving the pile around a few times in search of them, I still couldn’t find them. I thought of them as sort of an offering to the Sock God. Maybe, I thought, these lovingly handknit socks would stop His Mighty Sockiness from wanting more offerings from me.
There was a gift card on a pile next to The Pile, but it went missing just when I needed it. So there I was, on my knees with my arm between the two, when I touched on something dusty. Lo and behold, my sock returned to me. Convinced that the other one would be nearby, I continued to search. Soon after I was sitting, lovingly picking off dust bunnies that were large enough to eat a bunny. My pair–the first, ever so special, pair–were reunited with me.
Now I sit wearing them, even though they’re still quite dusty. I wasn’t able to find that gift card, but these are much better. Never will I just throw them onto a pile. Well–unless it’s summer.
Losing things is never fun. But when those things are your first pair (I stress the word “pair”. They were actually my third and fourth socks, but the first two weren’t a pair and one was freakishly large–even for my feet) of handknit socks? It’s terrible.
I didn’t know that they were missing for a long time. That’s because I knit them during the first few weeks of summer. No one in their right mind would wear wool socks when it’s so hot that they might cause a heat stroke. So I did what any self-respecting knitter would do–and threw them onto a pile of stuff.
About a month ago, I remembered these socks. I also vaguely remembered which pile I threw them on. But even after moving the pile around a few times in search of them, I still couldn’t find them. I thought of them as sort of an offering to the Sock God. Maybe, I thought, these lovingly handknit socks would stop His Mighty Sockiness from wanting more offerings from me.
There was a gift card on a pile next to The Pile, but it went missing just when I needed it. So there I was, on my knees with my arm between the two, when I touched on something dusty. Lo and behold, my sock returned to me. Convinced that the other one would be nearby, I continued to search. Soon after I was sitting, lovingly picking off dust bunnies that were large enough to eat a bunny. My pair–the first, ever so special, pair–were reunited with me.
Now I sit wearing them, even though they’re still quite dusty. I wasn’t able to find that gift card, but these are much better. Never will I just throw them onto a pile. Well–unless it’s summer.
