And now I will describe how my socks are coded for the chapters of my life.
White socks are for living the good life. Whether worn with a favorite pair of jeans to watch football during the crisp weeks of fall or with my workout gear when I’m out on a run, I am most myself when I wear my white socks. My white socks are soft and thick, like Santa’s beard, while also being sensible and affordable, like a Chevy Malibu. When I pull those comfortable sons of bitches on in the morning, I know I’m about to have an awesome day, same as if Kent Hrbek gave me a gun.
Brown socks are no fun at all. My brown socks are worn exclusively for work to match my brown pants and brown shoes. Brown socks are for days when I park in an assigned spot and write lesson plans and eat a sensible sandwich for lunch. While I love working with young people, my brown socks create an austere distance between them and myself. I am ever the dapper, professional counterpoint to their slovenly shiftlessness. The dynamic seen by my brown socks is like in The Odd Couple, except that in my case Felix can give Jack an in-school suspension.
Black socks are for fancy occasions. I like putting on black socks with my trim suit and a snappy tie for a nice formal occasion. My black socks allow escalate my overall level of sophistication to impress my wife and my friends and my wife’s friends. Black socks help me slip words like ouvre and sui generis into casual cocktail conversation. Members of the educated elite, recognizing me as one of their own, then pass along a knowing smile. I respond to them with a cocked eyebrow and gesture toward my socks, to which they quickly break eye contact and wander away in confusion. The black socks have done their job.
Sometimes I don’t wear socks at all. This is often at the behest of my wife who prefers me in summertime flip-flops to the raggedy old tennis shoes I would otherwise prefer. The flip flops can chafe the skin between my toes, but it is worth it for the gentle times that follow. The other times that I don’t wear socks are when I’m going to the bathroom or kicking the cats barefoot style like NFL great Rich Karlis.
There you have it, my developmentally delayed readers – 400 words on socks, and four hours well spent by yours truly. Come back in a few days, when the JLP tackles the important issue of what kind of shampoo I like.