Odd socks

I'm at work today, surprise, surprise...but something is different...something a little bit left of centre for me.

I'm wearing different coloured socks.

Woo hoo. The hijinks. I'm such a wild and crazy guy.

But seriously...I am a wild and crazy guy.

No, seriously...odd socks. Now let me clarify, I'm not wearing a red and a blue sock or a black and yellow one...no...instead of wearing my conservative, run of the mill black socks...I am wearing what appears to be fawn golfing socks...you know the kind...with the diamonds...but these are all fawn...the socks are all one colour...it's a fawn jamboree down there.

And let me tell you...I hate every minute!

From the moment I realised this morning that I had no clean black socks...my head was spinning...I rummaged around the sock drawer for any sign of hope...a pair of ankle white sport socks...NO!...three hankies...NO!...one small black sock that looked completely unfamiliar and possibly a woman's sock to boot...NO! The fawn option was the only option.

Downhill from there, let me tell you.

And so began a day of self-consciousness and self-doubt...I keep looking at my feet at every possible opportunity to make sure those slivers of fawn aren't too conspicuous...standing up is fine I thought...you can't see anything...but as soon as I started walking I realised the cuffs of my pants were swaying and rising like crazy exposing my hidden shame to all who bore witness to my confident manly stride. I can't cross my legs when I sit...and I'm a big fan of crossing my legs when I sit...a big fan. Torture...all day.

I am being self-conscious to the point that I bring up my anomaly to anyone and everyone I meet so as to avoid anyone or everyone noticing it and raising the issue with a grin and a witty comment: 'Laundry day?'

I'm like a reformed addict, telling everyone my sob story...cleansing me, absolving me...if I was upfront and honest then no one could land a punch. This must come from my adolescence where I...so the rumours go...was a fatty. In those days you would pay yourself out before anyone else did...removing the sting from any barb some skinnier kid might try to put on me...self-deprecation...the survival tool of the fat and the ugly. Believe me...I know.

So what has this involuntarily social experiment taught me? That change...although not always a good thing...is manageable. Difficult yes, but manageable. And I think there's something in that for all of us, don't you?


PS I'm aware that this is my first post in sometime...call it Blogger's Lethargy...or Apathy...no Lethargy...that's harder to pronounce...so James will see what he can do to rectify this situation...or not...I don't know...we'll see.