Some people have stamps, others that are more fabulous have shoes, and probably more people, who wouldn’t like to admit it, have sexual partners. But none of these come anything close to the most fabulous of all: socks.
If you haven’t already guessed it and wondered what I am talking about, it’s of course collections. It’s a hoarder’s dream to collect things, and although genetics peg me with a bit of a hoarder problem, I try to restrict it to a few things and thankfully one of them is digital so it doesn’t actually take up physical space.
My late father was a hoarder, and I remember thinking this when I clandestinely went into his office as a child. The odd times I made it in, I was always amazed at how packed it was. There was always dust on one bookshelf or another, but I never could have imagined what was lurking inside the closets, or the filing cabinets, or in the closet, or in the attic.
In some ways it irks me to think that I’m anything similar, but alas fighting genetics is impossible and I yield. I hoard, or rather I like to say I collect, socks. I’ve joked about it over the years and people have mocked me for the huge variety of colours and shapes and sizes, and it’s weird to say but I have an entire dresser dedicated to the storage of them, but yes it’s true.
I counted them and alas here are the totals:
110x ankle socks
14x above-ankle ‘normal’ socks, including ski-socks and leg warmers
21x ‘invisible’ socks, the ones you wear with flats or ‘sail’ shoes
13x leftovers without partners
Total shoes: 158
What worries me most about this is how I could lose the partners of 13 of my pairs. It hurts, like really hurts deep down. But alas, I’m coming clean and setting the record straight. This collection will, of course, add more than subtract due to attrition. Socks, it was only socks, and no I’m most certainly not a man-whore or giggilo.