Is it time to hang up the hose?
Being shoeless in public is a feature of motherhood. Soft play, other people’s shiny houses, nursery – all demand one to display one’s socks. As I slip off my Uggs this winter, I’ve come to question – are my cute dachshund socks unbefitting a late-thirties mother-of-three?
Some have a shoe fetish – I’m all about the socks. I love a sock. After a hard day’s socking, I retire the choice of the day and change into an evening sock. And then later, I might just pop some bed socks on if it’s really cold. As vices go, it’s pretty harmless.
My sock drawer is an ode to jazz. Stripey, spotty, dachshund-y and most of all hearts-y, there isn’t a boring pair in there.
Except one. Lurking at the back of the drawer is a pair of navy abominations that I was given for Christmas one year. They are my absolute emergency socks.
You see, dark socks make me feel sad. Plain socks make me feel, well, plaintive. I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I am actually depressed even by the knowledge that I am wearing a drab pair. Catching sight of them at a serious person’s house (the only reason I would wear them) makes my heart sigh.
Some of my socks raise eyebrows. The fluoro pair in the photo above have caused many, otherwise quite open-minded, people to choke, “Wow, they’re…bright!” To which I reply, “I know – they’re my favourites”.
So much my favourite, that I mete out their use, so as not to wear through them. A sad day it is indeed, when I have to throw away a long-loved pair.
There is a middle ground of course. The flesh-coloured pop sock. The “I’m not making a statement either way” sock. The “sensible, fits in a pump” sock. The “only possible to wear for two weeks of the year cos it’s so cold and wet” sock. Although I do wear these in that miniscule period between wearing pumps or flipflops barefoot and entering the full-sock season of September, I can’t help feeling that they are just too grown-up for me. I appreciate their sophisticated charms, but they just don’t make my spirit zing.
I’m not ready to be sad for the rest of my life. The only hose I shall be hanging up this Christmas is my stocking for Santa.
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Ten Yoga Moves You Already Do
June 3, 2020
Are You Ever Too Old For A Jazzy Sock? – Wry Mummy
maximios Blog
Is it time to hang up the hose?
Being shoeless in public is a feature of motherhood. Soft play, other people’s shiny houses, nursery – all demand one to display one’s socks. As I slip off my Uggs this winter, I’ve come to question – are my cute dachshund socks unbefitting a late-thirties mother-of-three?
Some have a shoe fetish – I’m all about the socks. I love a sock. After a hard day’s socking, I retire the choice of the day and change into an evening sock. And then later, I might just pop some bed socks on if it’s really cold. As vices go, it’s pretty harmless.
My sock drawer is an ode to jazz. Stripey, spotty, dachshund-y and most of all hearts-y, there isn’t a boring pair in there.
Except one. Lurking at the back of the drawer is a pair of navy abominations that I was given for Christmas one year. They are my absolute emergency socks.
You see, dark socks make me feel sad. Plain socks make me feel, well, plaintive. I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I am actually depressed even by the knowledge that I am wearing a drab pair. Catching sight of them at a serious person’s house (the only reason I would wear them) makes my heart sigh.
Some of my socks raise eyebrows. The fluoro pair in the photo above have caused many, otherwise quite open-minded, people to choke, “Wow, they’re…bright!” To which I reply, “I know – they’re my favourites”.
So much my favourite, that I mete out their use, so as not to wear through them. A sad day it is indeed, when I have to throw away a long-loved pair.
There is a middle ground of course. The flesh-coloured pop sock. The “I’m not making a statement either way” sock. The “sensible, fits in a pump” sock. The “only possible to wear for two weeks of the year cos it’s so cold and wet” sock. Although I do wear these in that miniscule period between wearing pumps or flipflops barefoot and entering the full-sock season of September, I can’t help feeling that they are just too grown-up for me. I appreciate their sophisticated charms, but they just don’t make my spirit zing.
I’m not ready to be sad for the rest of my life. The only hose I shall be hanging up this Christmas is my stocking for Santa.
Follow me on Facebook!
You may also like:
Ten Yoga Moves You Already Do