So now an Australian company believes it has solved the problem of sagging socks.
I, for one, am glad the suspense is over. Like children, some socks are raised and the others just dragged up.
At work, my socks are known as The Odd Couple. It’s this peculiar habit of individual socks going walkabout. You can’t keep them together for five minutes.
Socks hide in the washing basket. They lurk in forgotten corners, Mind you, no dirty sock is going to pull the wool over my eyes. I believe in getting down to the knitty-gritty.
I put on a new pair of socks only this week. I had barely reached the door when something had fallen around my ankles. It was only my daughter, reminding me of her allowance. I went to a shop to buy new socks and was questioned about size. When I showed my feet to the shop assistant, he shrieked “With calves like that you should be at Samcor.”
Old socks never die they simply fray away. Or they gather in colonies and are hosts to myriads of moths. I disturbed one moth and it balanced on the edge of the drawer, showing its teeth and singing: “Just a wee sock one of those tiger moths.”
Another moth sauntered past, carrying its golf bag. It had just teed off from the 18th hole.
Yes, we have socks darned in our house. “Darn your ruddy socks,” they say. Who can resist such an invitation?
What I now suggest is a uni-sock with only slight pattern variation so that if you lose a sock anywhere in the world you can quickly replace it without people staring rudely at your ankles.
Or we can have the compusock which is programmed to throw a small signal to a detecting device with each pair of socks having a different call sign.
I can see them at the Houston control saying: “Our satellite has Just picked up Fatchen’s socks.”
And someone screaming: “For heaven’s sake, be sure to disinfect them.”
Today I’m wearing my pink socks which have earnt me the endearing names of “Flamingo Legs,” and “Scarlett O’Hara.”
Yet I know there are socks rejected and forlorn, lying down-at-heel and never having a chance to get back on their feet again. But that’s life isn’t it.
Some socks make it and some don’t. Some socks keep a tight grip on themselves and then there are the others.
As a very strict relative says: If you wear loose socks be sure your shins will find you out.
POINT OF VIEW—Max Fatchen