I have, now and again, in a state of complete and utter desperation when at home, had to borrow a pair of socks from The Mom. And I have seen the sock drawer. It is a terrifying thing. I refuse to go looking through it. Even if I need socks now when I’m home, I either wear dirty or wet ones, or have a look through Crazy D’s old room to see if any socks (which will in no way fit me) still linger there. Sadly, though, it’s usually a bust – because I have already stolen all the good wooly socks he had. (Don’t feel too bad for him, he’s since upgraded and now has socks that have a lifetime guarantee. So good are these socks that he got the rest of us a pair for Christmas a few years ago. I adore mine. And he says you really only need to wash them once a week, which is ideal!)
Anyhow and never mind. The Mom’s sock drawer on a Saturday night is not the sort of thing that makes me think everyone at home is having more fun than me. And before we go back to the socks, let me just add about my social life: only a fool goes out on a Sautrday night. That is the first thing you learn when your friends are bartenders or waiters. Good, normal, decent people, who want a seat and do not want to wait in line go out on a Sunday if pressed, but prefer to wait until a Tuesday or Wednesday. This is especially true in London when going out often involves some serious travel, and the weekends are for relaxing and so you go out locally if you go out at all. But, as The Mom rightly points out, I didn’t pack my social life when I left London, so I set off once a month at least, and then we end up going out on the weekend. Though, usually, we go to the local pub or someone’s house.
But back to The Mom’s socks. Had she only asked , I could have told her that her insane plan to buy only black and white socks would have quickly led to pairs that in no way match.
I get the gist of her theory, and on paper it seems reasonable. However, The Mom sometimes lacks a certain attention to detail. Something which drives me insane. I’m not super detail-oriented when i ought to be – like, say, when I’m sending important emails and fail to realise autocorrect has had its way with my words – but rather when it comes to things that to most other people would not matter. When we go shopping, The Mom is frequently frustrated by my method: I have to touch everythingg before even considering thinking about maybe trying it on. It must then be evaluated for tag removal potential, and any seams that might cause undue scratchy distress. It must also be at least one size too big for me, just in case. I don’t like tight things. This theory holds with shoes as well.
In fact, just this past Christmas The Mom and I went to the mall and I needed to replace, again, the crappy black ballerina slippers I wear when it’s not the monsoon season over here. They are cheap, soft, and have a rounded toe. They have no embellishments whatsoever (save a twist on the fabric at the toe that does not affect the fit), are made of a dull, black fabric. I adore them. I have described them multiple times to The Mom and she will always pick out shoes that are flat and black, thinking these are the correct ones. Hers will have a bow, be in PATENT LEATHER, or some other abomination. Anyhow, my point is the woman is not gripped with an excessive attention to detail.
Hence the sock drawer fiasco. I’ve seen her buy socks. She just willy-nilly picks up the cheapest multi-buy pack of black or white socks and throws them into her basket. Without once pausing to consider things like, how pinchy the elastic is likely to be, whether or not there is an annoying logo stitched onto the sock that will have a horrible plastic backing that will then rub against her skin causing an unholy sore to appear, how stretchy the fabric is, how thick the socks are, or whether or not they actually come anywhere near the size they purport to be.
Now, granted I hate socks. Truly. To me, they are made by the devil. The pinchy elastic is the worst. I fold my socks down just so it never touches my skin. And I refuse to buy socks that are not wool from the Gap. Are they expensive? Yes. But they have passed all of my rigid testing.
Anyhow, I am glad The Mom has finally got things down to a dull roar in the sock drawer. Myself, I’m saving a big spring clean for the Easter weekend. I have five days off and the pool is shut, and as most of my friends are either out of the country or otherwise occupied I figure it’s a good time to go through things. I have no idea what I’ll find, but I’m going to take a page from The Mom’s book and get a decent bottle of booze in to help me through it.