socks

I used to hate socks.  Like seriously.  I never wore them.  I was a big flip flop and sandal fan, even though I grew up somewhere where it snows at least nine months out of the year.  My feet are always cold so I figured it didn't really make much of a difference if I wore socks or not.  My mom and I used to argue about my aversion to socks often.

Something about being really barefoot makes you feel so reckless and carefree.  Especially being barefoot outside, which I used to do a lot with Raven and Alisa.  Sometimes Alisa and I would chase Raven barefoot through the mud with earthworms because she was the girliest of us all and would freak out - but that's part of another story.

Last week, as I was getting ready for work, I put on my socks first.  There I stood, in all my nakedness - except for the socks, of course - and realized how weird it is for me that I really love socks now.  A few months ago, I was really sick and wound up in the hospital, and I actually sent my husband home to get a particular pair of socks for me and I actually felt better when I put them on - kinda like a kid with a band-aid.  Lately I really like the security of socks.  They are taut, and snug against my feet, and I feel like everything is in its place when I have my socks on.  Maybe this is a sign of growing older, or maybe wiser - I'd rather feel secure and comforted than careless and wild.  Don't ever let me be too old to let my hair down and take my socks off once in a while.