My socks don’t want to be together any more…

Given everything that is going on in the world, I know this doesn’t even count as a first-world problem, but it’s very odd, so I’d like to know if you can explain it. Let me tell you the little story.

All my adult life, I’ve bought a couple of packs of identical black socks and worn them. Since the rheumatoid arthritis got my toes in this last flare, I’ve changed to toe socks, which are fiddly but have banished the pain, reduced the inflammation and are gradually making them look like toes rather than something that could be used in a horror film. They’re more expensive but worth every penny. They also don’t come in packs of all black at a price I’m prepared to pay, and since I need two different compressions, I chose basic ones in black, grey and white and fun ones for the alternate days and bought a couple of packs of each. Right now, I have a LOT of socks because then if one goes into holes, I can still wear the other with one of its friends.

Sadly, they’re not all friends. Quite the opposite, in fact, because two of the grey ones have taken a violent dislike to each other. I put them in the wash basket when I take them off, and if one can’t escape before it goes into the washing machine, then the other one clings to the washing machine drum (possibly sobbing pitifully but very quietly or possibly not. Who knows?) If you force it out, then it’ll leap out of the bowl when you go to hang them out, or statically attach itself to something almost the same colour if you’re tumbling it dry.

The rest of my family has noticed too. The black ones are fine. The stripy ones with embroidered cats on them are no trouble at all. It’s just this particular pair of grey socks that are acting up.

Is this daft? Quite possibly yes, but bear with me. We all know that socks are brave and love to go exploring, and maybe foot-shaped ones are extra good at this because they look so much more like feet. All I know, as we come into definitely autumn and the temperatures drop, is that they are amazing socks. There were two options, you see. I had surgery to straighten them. I didn’t like the sound of the recovery time or taking bits of bones out because I like my bones. They’ve worked well for me, and it sounded ucky. Alternatively, I could change the socks I wore, and it’d work as long as I wore them. No waiting list. No pain. No recuperation time. I’m back to walking the equivalent of a marathon each week, and I’m sure I’m nicer to live with than when I’m in pain and cooped up indoors. As my feet improve, I shall be able to use silicone toe spacers instead, which’ll only need to be on for an hour or so a day, so I’m aiming for those by summer. Till then, I’m quietly amazed at the miracle of socks, so maybe I should tell them how much I appreciate them and see if that’ll persuade them to stay together. It’s no more daft than what so much of the rest of the world is doing, is it?

I did wonder about taking a picture of my proudly straight toes in their new socks, but I decided you’d like this one of the harbour instead. Let me know if I’m wrong, won’t you? And don’t ever assume something can’t be fixed and let it get worse than it needed to like I did.

See you on Tuesday!