Today I'd like to revisit an old, important, and painful issue: socks.
As some of my original readers might remember, I have had many issues around socks. It started innocently enough, when I caught my wife snickering to her friends about throwing out certain socks. The girls were all snickering along knowingly. When I listened in, I discovered that my wife was systematically disposing of all my socks with colored stripes around them.
When confronted, she claimed it was only because they were worn out. This might also explain why the new socks that tended to magically appear now and then had no stripes whatsoever. You can call them Magic Socks if you like but I was pretty agitated when I discovered this nefarious plot. And you have never experienced anything like a room full of women knowingly laughing at you (I hope).
Next up was the grief I experienced from my band, all older than me, some by ten years. I appeared at an outdoor gig with shorts and suffered no end of teasing from my bandmates about my socks. I checked for stripes but there were none, so I had no idea what was so funny.
This time the issue was height. Yes, apparently my socks were too high. After the trauma of the stripes, I couldn't imagine things could get worse, but there I was, with socks that were apparently way too tall. Now I know for a fact that my socks did not grow: they were the same socks at the same height I had always worn them. For purposes of identification, the packages say Crew Socks. They have heels and come midway up the leg. I refer to them as Regular White Socks, as I'd imagine most of us do.
A quick look around revealed that my bandmates were either wearing nothing or gay socks. Now before you get your panties in a knot, my wife's best friend, a gay male, refers to socks that don't cover the ankle as gay socks. My wife, thrower-out of all socks striped, confirms that I'm simply not a gay socks kinda guy. I'd have to go along with that assessment.
I have to admit this was a bit of a surprise. There I was, playing the guitar like a man possessed, totally unaware of my apparent Fashion Faux Pas, when the guys, impersonating the Fashion Police, dropped the sock bomb on me. I was totally unprepared for it.
Fortunately the lead antagonist, the drummer, is also a bit OCD and complained additionally that my socks were not even (pulled up to the same level). I pushed one all the way down, much to his vocal dismay, and did the rest of the set that way. This might explain his performance that day. Imagine... being picked on by a drummer!
Apparently the band was too polite(?) to mention my shorts. Shorts, much like socks, have always been the same for me. I managed to ignore the `shorts' that come below your knees, as well as the Multi-Person Pants, into which you can probably fit a small band, not to mention pants that look like you're going to walk out of them at any moment. I'm opposed to crack in any form.
Our yearly outdoor pig roast is almost upon us and after looking at pics from last year, I have decided to avoid all of the usual hagging and criticism from my Queer Eye bandmates and just not wear shorts, thereby hiding my apparently way-embarrassing socks. As they're expecting 500 people this year, that comes to 250 people laughing at each sock.
But things haven't all been sunshine in the sock department. My niece looked on in horror as she patiently tried to explain socks to Old Uncle lefty. She really tries to look less mortified as she attempts to correct my horrid abuse of clothing (and speaking) etiquette. After her explanation, I realized that I had taken on the appearance of a Crazy Old Man who doesn't even realize that most of the known universe laughs at his socks (even when he wears them with long pants). It was a sobering moment.
Unwilling to remain sober for too long, I consulted a coworker who is hip and only ten years my junior. I thought for sure she would understand socks. But nooooooooo..... she too recognized gay socks as the only socks.
My nephew apparently loves socks. No one knows why. He told my wife that if he ever wins the lottery, he wants enough socks to wear a new pair every day (aim high!). Oddly enough, Jerry Lewis refuses to wear a pair of socks more than once.
I was feeling terribly old and decrepit (even though I'm in my late forties). Suicide was contemplated but quickly taken off the table.
The other day I auditioned an additional band. I liked their selection of music and they spent the entire time verbally assaulting each other. It was a beautiful thing; just like where I work. Everything seemed ok until I stopped and looked around. Every one of them was wearing shorts that came past their knees. Two of them wore gay socks. The rest of them wore no socks at all.
I officially give up.