I might be living in a Twilight
Zone sock episode.
Do you remember the Twilight
Zone TV series? I do. Each week, from 1959-1964
Rod Serling would bring a Kafkaesque story to me via our black and white TV set. Like the Prague-born German novelist, Franz
Kafka, Serling would tell a complex surreal story in which the participant, and
those of us watching, would experience
feelings of helplessness as the character underwent bizarre conditions.
One of my favorite episodes was Wordplay, in which a salesman is frustrated by his new difficulty understanding people due
to the increasing insertion of totally unrelated, wrong word choices in speech
(e.g. identifying a dog as a trumpet,
or a restaurant as a dinosaur, etc.)
. The incidence of random gibberish increased
until finally, he could not understand anyone. The episode ended with him
picking up his son’s reading book in an effort to relearn how to communicate with
his confusing world. The camera zoomed in on the page of the opened book and we
saw a picture of a dog. The picture caption read: Wednesday.
TZ was such phenomenal hit that other shows
spoofed it. My favorite TZ spoof was found on a 1967 episode of The Lucy Show, entitled Lucy’s Substitute Secretary.
Lucy planed a trip to Hawaii, but Mr. Mooney really liked Lucy’s pretty blonde
replacement, so fearing she might lose her job to the new girl, Lucy skipped her trip and “twilighted” the sub. One of the things
she did to her was willy-nilly changing out the same type plant in several different sizes. It was great.
So what does this have to do with me living in a real life TZ-inspired sock episode?
I think my middle-aged, double-wide, clod-hoppers have grown—either
that, or The Sock Industry is “twilighting” me.
Okay, so maybe they are not targeting me personally, but
something’s going on. Maybe it’s an instance of attempting to raise flailing profit
margins. Perhaps The Sock Industry has started making socks smaller, but still calling them the same size in a
misguided effort to manage their resource utilization. Kind of like cereal, or laundry soap being
sold for the same price but the box is an ounce or so lighter.
Or, perhaps The Sock Industry has started supplementing the costly
cotton fibers with cheaper lycra®. You
know lycra®—it’s that stretchy fabric that molds to every bump and bulge on
your body. It’s not a great look for anyone. The overweight stretch it and every fat pocket is revealed. Anorexics wear it, and their bones poke out.
It is not a kind fabric. Some have said it was developed by the devil.
While I am not convinced The Sock Industry has resorted to these
devious business practices, I do believe
they have enchanted their socks, and entice them to go off on adventures never
to return. With the rise in Sock Run-a-ways, I would not think that The Sock
Industry would have a problem making money—let’s face it, unless you have no
fashion sense whatsoever, once a sock goes missing, it has to be replaced. I myself
have several singles. Some are really
cute because since my last sock-rant, a sweet friend bought me really cute matching
socks. Unfortunately, one by one, they too
have split up and disappeared.
I blame it on the Sock Enchantment Spell.
Rather than rely on the kindness of my friends toreplenish my sock stash, I went to
the store to purchase more socks. That's where I learned brand new socks are
smaller than they used to be. The first
set: three pair of brightly colored and
patterned socks—they shrunk to infant size after the initial washing. The second set: diabetic socks (one white pair,
one fuchsia pair) got separated somewhere between the washer, the dryer, and the
sock-drawer. This is a prime example of
why I usually only buy the same style of one brand of black socks—contrary to
what you might be thinking of my
fuddy-duddy-factor, when a partner goes missing, a Plain-Jane black sock can be replaced. Easily.
Alas, the store only had one set, so I couldn’t
buy two sets—my rationale for wanting two identical sets of the socks: back-ups. That was not the case and subsequent
trips to the store to purchase their twins, have been unsuccessful. I
apparently bought the last non-black diabetic socks in the retail world. The
singleton fuchsia and white socks left behind have been given to Bandit and
Moggy. I’m pretty sure when they have
been shredded, their partners will return—which is why I keep all the other
fudd-duddy black partner-less socks in the sock drawer—I keep hoping against hope the partners
will one day The Prodigal Socks will return to the fold. Or ball, as the case may
be since I fold the socks into a ball. I’m
pretty sure if I gave the rest of the singletons to the FurKids, the returning
partners would arrive as soon as the FurKids stopped their shredding.
Why all this talk of socks?
I’m wearing one of my oldest pair of matching socks. They
are almost thread-bare. And they are currently molded so tightly to my feet
that my toes feel crushed. You would think since they are so old they would be
stretched out, beyond the point of RTTOSAS (return
to the original size and shape). These particularly hideous black socks are oversized men’s socks. They are not a cute look. But they are
usually comfortable. As the day has progressed, the comfort factor has been
reduced, and the un-cute factor has increased.
To make matters worse, they are jeopardizing my job.
When my feet are not comfortable, I’m grouchy. When I’m
grouchy, I could say or do something that might jeopardize my job; therefore,
for the sake of my job, I once again need to purchase new socks. Socks that are
larger. And cute.
I long for cute,
comfortable socks.
Actually, I have found cute and comfortable socks—I just didn’t
wear them today. You’ve probably seen then in the store before. They are the
fuzzy aloe-infused socks in the foot care section. They are thick and comfy…and meant to be
lounging socks.
Which is why I didn’t wear them to work today. I made that mistake
yesterday.
The aloe they are infused with makes your feet really soft;
however, they also make for poor traction. In fact they are downright slippery
inside your shoes. Slippery lounging socks and icy parking lot/sidewalks at
work aren’t a very good combination
Rest assured I did not fall.
But the people that saw me slip-sliding across the lot were highly
entertained by my Twilight Zone
inspired strut yesterday. Their laughter is the reason I have returned to
wearing my ugly socks.
Socks, that seem to have shrunk.
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