Christmas is always interesting at my house. My family has an…er…rather unique sense of humor. For some reason, it’s usually directed at me. To those of you who know me, you probably know that, in many things, I often lack circumspection (yes I know what circumspection means – look it up) and foresight.
Several weeks prior to Christmas, on the little chalk boards above the mantle, where we write down our Christmas “wants,” I naively wrote “Socks.” I thought it was a good idea, since my current ones were getting a little threadbare. It would also be an easy, inexpensive gift, and, since I would probably be paying for it anyway, it seemed a thrifty thing to do.
Christmas morning. I’m sitting in the living room, groggily drinking my morning coffee, when my daughter plops a very large, bulging stocking on my lap. I reached in and pulled out – yep, you guessed it, a pair of socks. But not just any old pair of socks, and certainly not the socks I am accustomed to wearing (black, conservative). These socks looked like something that a Dr. Suess character would have worn. (see photo).
But wait, that’s not all of the story. As I withdrew the socks from the stocking, a ribbon tied to the first pair pulled out a second pair. Then a third, then a fourth. All told – 24 pairs of the most outrageous socks I can imagine. (Again see photo for example – and that pair is one of the tamer ones.) I figure now I have enough socks to last several years…which is good, because I’m not going to ever ask for socks again – EVER!
It’s a good thing I wear boots most of the time.