For the love of socks

It may sound strange, but I always thought if I won the lottery, the first thing I would buy is a whole new set of socks. Not the kind that are sold in white or gray ten packs, but the kind that describes what you do during the day (e.g. walking, hiking, wind surfing) and individually sell for $16 a pair. Granted, this fantasy started when I didn't take care of my sock-wear - I frequently kept socks with holes in the toe and heel and didn't replace them until I my shoes had, essentially, become my socks. (Much like those who go "commando" essentially turn their pants into underpants). Now, after owning a few pairs of comfortable socks I have come to understand their value. When starting out the day with a good pair, the whole world seems brighter, softer, and more promising. You don't mind getting up from your chair, you're quick to fetch a printout for a colleague, and you sometimes find interest in seemingly non-interesting things. In high school, I clearly remember attending a choir concert while wearing new, active-lifestyle, expensive socks and I nearly felt drunk with pleasure. It was heaven. It felt like good meatloaf, like having a loved one lay beside you while you're perfectly content, like drinking a cold beer in the shower (which is also one of life's unheralded joys). Maybe, someday, I'll write a book about the small, overlooked gratifications in life. Kurt Vonnegut said, in some novel, that people don't stop often enough and identify the things that make them happy. I, for one, hope to always stop and dissect those moments, no matter how absurd or wee.