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Sock News
I am told that a favorite conversational gambit during phone sex is to ask what your paramour is wearing. Personally, I have an unlisted number, but I can imagine that the answer (delivered in a warm, suggestive voice) involves some sort of lightweight underwear. Or a pair of highly impractical PJs. Or perhaps the odd hat.

One article of clothing that would likely never be mentioned, I’ll wager, are socks. Now, we are not talking about stockings here. Stockings are an entirely different matter. So, not garter belts or exotic, shimmering materials or transparency of any kind. One might think that socks, hanging out as they do around the pedal extremities’ erogenous zone, might have some of the hot magic rub off. But no. There is nothing remotely sexual about these humble foot snoods.

At least not to most folks. There are probably some sock fetishists out there who get steamed up over a pair of damp argyles, but those birds are surely rare. Let’s be clear: I am certainly not one.

This is not to say, however, that socks cannot spark joy. I own one pair in particular that still gives me pleasure after years (yes, years!) of use. Indeed, it is a sign of the strength of our relationship that I have blogged about them before, here.

That was over two years ago, and my attachment has only deepened since then. Now, each time I remove them from the washer, they are more diaphanous, more translucent, more vulnerable. That ragged delicacy only makes me cherish them more.

And yes, if you must know, I am wearing them right now.

IN OTHER NEWS: Today I consigned two socks to the dustbin. They were whole and fully serviceable, but both had resided in my sock drawer, unmatched, for months. So, finally, I officially called off the search for their lost partners. Sadly, there is never a possibility for proper closure in these situations. If the body of the missing sock is found, it simply rejoins its partner.

I assume that both were females. A male sock whose mate goes missing will often disappear within days. A widow, however, typically persists long after her partner is gone. I briefly considered joining the two to form a single pair, but immediately thought better of it. Such an act would not only disrespect both hose and their lost mates, it would subject me to ridicule should I be noticed wearing two differently colored socks.

Both of them had served well, but without much distinction. Even so, they were granted a moment of solemn silence before joining the used band aids and spent floss in my waste basket.

DRAWER UPDATE: I should confess here, for the record, that I am still supporting five pairs of socks that I never wear. In spite of their bad fit, or bad color, or bad personalities, I permit them to use up space and psychic energy. My only reason for keeping them is that they do have partners. I sense that this attitude constitutes some form of despicable clothing prejudice, but since I can’t think of what it is, I’ll just have to shrug and move on. My apologies to any garment that may have been offended.
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Trump supporters are people who know what they believe.
~ JC, Bonny Doon