Socks. You either have too many of them, or too few. Typically, when weather is cold and the sales hit, you buy a few pairs of socks from your favourite retailer – savvy and responsible consumerism, you think; can’t beat it. You enjoy the next few days of cosy feet, and a warm feeling of satisfaction, at a job well done. Until, that is, you are cleaning out your wardrobe a few days later and find the exact same socks you bought last year, still with their tags on.
I am currently in the fortunate position of having too many socks. But that’s OK, because it’s March*, and I have poor circulation – so; one pair of socks is never enough. I prefer to wrap up my feet in so many pairs of socks that they start to look like giant, multicoloured puffballs. And even then, my toes are still cold (a fact that my husband never tires of hearing).
Nonetheless, there are marital advantages to this conundrum – to wit, I have received several rather lovely pairs of socks as gifts over the years. Works well for both of us, I like to think. One year, I even got two pairs** in different colours†, both with the same amusing message on the soles: ‘IF YOU CAN READ THIS’, says one sole, ‘BRING ME A GLASS OF WINE’, says the other.
I absolutely love those socks. Firstly: they are incredibly warm and comfortable*** – essential criteria for socks, in my opinion. Secondly, they are hilarious***, not to mention wonderfully witty, because, whichever way round you wear them, the message still works. And thirdly: because the message actually does work – I donned the socks, put my feet up and, hey presto, he brought me a glass of wine***. Result.
Today, though, I have sad news to report. Both pairs of socks are most definitely on their last legs††. One of the blue socks has worn away completely at the heel, and one of the grey socks has lost its battle with my longest toe. And, since the holes were letting the cold in, I had to bid them a reluctant farewell. I gave each one a dignified send-off, then paired the bereft socks with each other. No sense in them going to waste. Especially if I can still use them to order glasses of wine.
And that’s when the tragedy really hit home. With rising distress and a sense of dread, I checked the socks I had just paired together: sure enough, the message now says ‘IF YOU CAN READ THIS’, ‘IF YOU CAN READ THIS’†††. Woe is me – I now have nonsensical socks. Worse still; if I want a glass of wine, my socks can no longer advocate for me – I will have to advocate for myself.
Ah well, as an endo warrior, at least I’ve had plenty of practice at being my own advocate. Which is actually a far more woeful state of affairs than having to ask for a glass of wine, or mourning the loss of my beloved socks.
Still … maybe, one day, socks will last forever, or glasses of wine will pour themselves. Or – how about some real blue sky thinking? – maybe, one day, endo warriors won’t have to battle for healthcare. I wonder which of those things will happen first?
* March is Endometriosis Awareness Month. Which is why I started blogging in the first place. This blog post just happens to be about socks.
** I must have been really good that year. Or (more likely), I must have been complaining more than usual.
† One blue pair, one grey pair.
*** Yup, I am (very) middle aged. And loving it.
†† Or feet.
††† Not even ‘BRING ME A GLASS OF WINE’, ‘BRING ME A GLASS OF WINE’ – which at least would still have had the desired effect.
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