Dirty Socks

Poor dirty old socks. You receive no respect for the service you provide while being worn. Quickly cast off you are thrown into a bin, or under the bed, or into the corner of the bedroom with the other dirty socks that have come before you. Many are just like you. All used, sweated on, worked until their soles (souls) wore out, blackened and sometimes yellowed from extended work. You are treated just like those other guys you share a drawer with; the hankerchiefs.

Rarely does anyone ever stop to think about how important you are, and the many ways you can help us share the stories of the day. You literally stand in our shoes, feel what we feel, go where we go and quietly leave us visual markers of where we have been; grass stains, puddles, dog hair, pieces of carpet. You remind us of so many events from the day. So how do we repay you? By leaving you under the couch for a week until we accidently suck you into the vacuum cleaner. Well, no more.

I dedicate this blog to the socks on my feet and to their brothers who are currently bound in my top drawer or stinking in the bottom of my hamper. I will tell the everyday stories that they share with me. If it rains and they get soaked, I will profess it. No more will they live in the darkness of my closet. For their story is my story and vice versa. This is The Sock Hamper, where stories are told and human/sock relations darned. Thank you.


(This blog is not about socks. That's crazy talk. It's just a place for me to share my stories and opinions from the day. So don't worry, you can keep coming back. I promise I won't make anymore more sock jokes.)

-McGair