One of the side effects of my blood pressure medications are that one of them makes my legs swell up. If I’m on my feet, as in standing upright, walking, or even letting my feet hang off the sofa, they end up looking a bit elephantine. Compression socks fix the problem, so it’s not a serious issue.
The problem is that it is summer. It hit 96 today and I had to keep my feet up almost all day, unless I was in the kitchen. This is my favorite time of year for feet. I love sandals. I love bare or nearly bare feet. so I went looking for lightweight compression socks that might not look too horrible with sandals and skirts only to discovet that it isn’t a compression sock if it isn’t knee-high.
Is there an ankle height compression sock? So many questions, so few answers. Has anyone heard of it? Any kind? Something I could wear with sandals — or alone?
If they exist, I really want some! I know this isn’t a life or death thing, but I still want some.
I’m sure that everyone wonders, once in a while, about the socks that disappear in the dryer. Where do they go? Almost daily, a pair goes in and only one comes out. I have bags of these lonely single socks sitting in the back of my closet, hoping that one day their mates will reappear.
My husband has a theory about this. He believes that the socks go to a parallel universe where people find extra socks when they do their laundry. In that world, two socks go in and three socks come out.
I like to think that somewhere in that universe the mates to my single socks are also sitting in a bag, in someone’s closet, patiently waiting for destiny to reunite them with their long-lost mates. It’s actually kind of romantic.
I asked my husband if this theory also explains the problem of the missing Tupperware. I always have too many lids and not enough bottoms, or too many bottoms and not enough lids. I wanted to know if my missing Tupperware goes to the same parallel universe as the socks. My husband looked at me as if I was crazy. Apparently that’s not possible unless I put the Tupperware in the dryer. The dryer is obviously the doorway to the wormhole that links us to the other sock universe.
The good news is that wormholes can reverse themselves (according to my husband and I’m not sure who else). Therefore it’s possible that one day we’ll start finding extra socks in the dryer and extra, superfluous Tupperware parts in our kitchen cabinets.
The upshot of all this is that I plan to hang onto my bags and boxes of single socks and mismatched Tupperware. I advise you to do the same. If we run out of space to store all this stuff, we’ll just have to find a way to move to a parallel universe that has more storage space.
Let us, for a brief moment, consider the subject of … socks.
I have, throughout my life, suffered from cold feet. Not figuratively. In the fully literal meaning of the words, my feet are always cold. Even when the rest of me is warm enough, my feet are cold. They used to tell me it was poor circulation and, it turned out, they — all of them — were right. It was and is.
I have tried furry slippers, and slipper socks. I have Uggs for the winter. But in the end, what works for me and makes my feet happy … are socks. I don’t wear any old tube socks. No “12 pair for one low price” specials for me.
I like making a footwear statement. These are my favorites.
MUNDANE MONDAY CHALLENGE #66 : LEARN PHOTOGRAPHY – PhoTrablogger
Who doesn’t wonder where the other sock from the pair went when it disappeared from the dryer? Don’t you wonder where they’ve gone? It seems to me that with every load of laundry, a pair of socks goes in, but only one comes out.
Does the dryer eat them?
I have bags of lonely, single socks in the back of my closet, all yearning for the day when their long-lost mates will reappear.
My husband theorizes that missing socks go to a parallel universe in which people find extra socks. Two socks go in to their dryer, but three come out.
I like to think somewhere in that universe live the mates to my lonely socks. Somewhere in the great galaxy, they patiently wait for destiny to reunite them with their mates. It’s kind of romantic. Depending on how you feel about socks.
I asked my husband if this theory also explains the Tupperware problem. I have many orphaned lids with no bottoms that fit. Yet I also have plenty of bottoms for which I can find no matching tops. Is my missing Tupperware in the same parallel universe as the socks?
My husband looked at me as if I were crazy. Impossible, right? Because the dryer is the wormhole to that other universe and I swear I’ve never put my Tupperware in the dryer. But maybe the dishwasher is a secondary wormhole. You can never be sure about wormholes. They can appear anywhere, anytime.
The good news? Wormholes can reverse themselves — at least, according to my husband (but I’m not sure who else). Thus it’s possible one day we will begin to find spare socks in the dryer … and superfluous Tupperware pieces in the cabinets.
I’m going to hang onto my bags and boxes of single socks and mismatched Tupperware. I advise you to do the same. If we run out of space to store all this stuff, we’ll simply have to find a way to move to a parallel universe where there’s more storage space.