You know what I haven’t had in too long? New socks.
I love love love love LOVE, when I say I’m in love you best believe I’m in LOVE L-U-V new socks. I’m talking brand new, not worn once and washed, no – not the same, not the same.
I’m talking socks right out of the package. That plastic package that you just ripped a hole in, a hole barely big enough to pry one pair through.
Then you pull them on, one by one. Damn man, it’s like your feet are getting blown. Every new fiber standing pert feeling its way around your skin, massaging the areas you didn’t know needed massaging.
For a few hours after that you walk through the world on cushions of angel wing feathers. Your feet meet the ground with a delicious bounce springing up with energy you didn’t know you had. You turn on dimes which feel like nothing more than fairy kisses. At the end of the day you remove the socks and toss them in the pile on your
kitchen floor hamper and lie down for a long sleep of peaceful dreams.
Your feet will never feel THAT good in those socks again. Sure, you wash them and put them on a second time, and they feel pretty nice. Then you repeat this cycle again and again and soon those socks which were once as naked wood nymphs that caressed your toes and whispered to you that you were beautiful, are now the rough rags of a lost and lonely wanderer. Hard and unforgiving, embittered and graying from countless hours of supporting arches in a hopeless cause, the socks grow thinner and rougher and meaner.
I expect that in my future life as an insanely insane wealthy eccentric I will be provided with brand new socks every day, no, every hour. A humble and loyal servant shall remove the horrid and offending 60 minute old socks (to be given to the help) and a brand new pair shall be placed on my delicate piggies. I shall be king of the world and my outrageously comfy feet will attest to that fact.