The Sock Dilemma

Some days I wear my craziness on my sleeve.

Today was one such day and it’s all because of YESTERDAY.

Yesterday, in an attempt to be both fit and friendly, I agreed to go for a midday run with my good friend (yes, this is attempt #2 after being rained out on Monday night.) I met her in our mutual place of work and changed in the bathroom.

I admit, I don’t have the quietest voice. And perhaps I do add a flare of drama to my sweeping statements. As far as I’m concerned, all I did was casually MENTION, as I was walking down the halls of her work, that I had forgotten my running socks.

(Plus or minus a few superlative vituperations.)

Out of nowhere, a lady of great esteem emerged from her office and kindheartedly offered me a pair of HER running socks.

I respect this woman WAY too much to mention her by name on my lowly blog post. Lets just say it’s akin to having the principal of your school pop out of his office and offer you his socks.

A principal you REALLY like. And admire. And are a wee bit intimidated by sometimes.

And you’re in grade 8.

With acne.

I had no choice BUT to take the socks and I felt the rush of privilege suffuse up my feet as I put them on.

I have to say; this lady has fancy running socks.

The aura of privilege stayed with me the entire run. I won’t say I ran fast because I don’t. And I didn’t. But I will say I had an extra little BOUNCE in my step, knowing I not only LOOKED more like a runner with my fancy super short Nike jogging socks and knowing to whom they belonged.

It wasn’t until after the run that the reality of the situation sank in and I realized I had a dilemma on my hands. Did I give the socks back right away or did I take them home and wash them? Was it more polite to be punctual with the sock return or present her with a pristine pair that has been politely disinfected?

I asked around and went with the majority.

That night I gathered up whatever I could find to add bulk to my load of ONE PAIR OF SOCKS and did a load of wash. I even stayed up late to ensure they got in the drier and properly dried so I had them in my purse, ready to hand back to her the next morning.

And that’s when the moment of horror occurred.

I’ve HEARD about driers that eat socks, just as I’ve heard about plants that eat bugs. I know that they exist; it just doesn’t make scientific sense to me. I guess it’s like STDs and tax audits – you just never think it will happen to you.

Well here’s your lesson folks; it does, and it did.

I lost ONE sock. One sock of the fanciest pair of running socks I’ve ever had in my possession. The socks that had so generously been loaned to me by someone I’m usually too shy to even say hello to in the hallways of my work. And here I was. Sockless.

There was really only ONE solution to this problem. I would have to go and buy her a replacement. Lesson number two is this; there are lots of different types of fancy running socks out there. Saying to a sales person “short white ones” doesn’t narrow it down.

After 45 minutes of intense sock analysis in the aisles of Sporting Life and a 15 minute pep talk in the parking lot I found myself this morning, wearing my craziness on my sleeve, as I skulked into my superior’s office with 5 different pairs of swanky white jogging socks in my hand and my vulnerability written all over my face.

And after all that build up…apparently she doesn’t work on Fridays.