retired

I’m about to blog about something silly, so beware.

I’ve had a realization today that things don’t last forever.  I wish somethings did.  Included are my favorite pair of socks.  There, I said it.  Welcome to the memorial for my socks.  I love them.

Purchased for $2.99 at The Gap in 2004, they came into my life at a critical time.  I was just weeks way from delivering our second child Andre, and just one day away from saying a four-year goodbye to my brother and sister-in-law along with my two (and only at the time) nephews.  The purchase made that October day was, unbeknownst to me, one of the few items of clothing I would ever have such sentimental feelings toward.  Possibly the only.  I love them.

They were there with me for the last four child births, for the very few runs I have done in the last 6 years, and always– without fail– the first pair of socks on my feet when the seasons have changed.  Mostly, they have been a snuggle for my toes for 6 years. Six. Years.  Worn just as soon as they are cleaned, they fit perfectly.  So perfect, in fact, that mending them would make them too small.  I love them

They aren’t the prettiest, the fanciest (though they did used to have white puffy balls on the heel of them), or the warmest socks I own.  They are simply the best.  Never shifting annoyingly throughout the day or twisting off at night.  Faithfully, they have stayed just exactly how I put them on.  Every time.  I lovvve them.

I’ve been wearing them all day.  My heels have been cold all day.  I have wondered if I should keep them in a baby book… all day.  I am ridiculous.  They are so

 

R.I.P

 

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