wool socks and polished floors
I was standing in line at a sporting goods store this evening. What possessed me to walk into a sporting goods store to begin with is completely beyond me. No, that's not true. We were looking for a coffee maker. And not the sort of coffee maker you find in a high end electronics store, or a kitchen store. Mike wanted a campfire percolator to make coffee over an open flame. Not that we're planning on going camping until, at least, spring. But as you well know, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, there might not be any other way to make coffee, and man can not exist on beer alone.
As it happens, the camping aisle was completely out of coffee makers (I can't imagine why) so we found ourselves perusing the aisles for whatever else might catch our eyes.
I didn't find anything I needed or wanted, until I discovered the peanut M&Ms in the checkout lane, (just wait, I'll get there) but Mike weaved his way through aisle after aisle in search of a pair of running pants to train for his upcoming Warrior Dash adventure race (I will keep you posted on the insanity that is the Warrior Dash as it gets closer to spring.)
With the efficiency of a man on a mission in a department store, Mike grabbed a pair of compression pants and we made our way to the roped off section leading to the cashiers like we were waiting for in line for a ride at Disney.
The crowd of holiday shoppers packed the store, making it nearly impossible to move without pressing up against someone, especially in the checkout lane. With less than nine full shopping days left til Christmas, there were only three registers running, and I suspect this was a calculated ploy to entice shoppers to snatch up those last minute impulse buys. Like peanut M&Ms.
Or wool socks.
Have you ever really looked at a pair of thick wool socks? At first glance, they don't appear as if they'd fit inside a pair of shoes. Like if you put them on, your feet would suddenly be twice as wide and bulge out of your shoes like a pregnant belly after a holiday meal. But put those same wool socks inside a nice pair of winter boots, and well...perfection.
When I was a young child, my dad had a drawer filled with an assortment of thick wool socks. At the time, they seemed enormous. As if my entire leg could be swallowed up by each one, and, in fact, I would pull them on, drawing them all the way up my thighs like a pair of tights. My sister and I used to steal Dad's socks and take them to the freshly polished floors of the large dining room to "skate".
With my mother's worn but well-loved Elvis Presley Christmas album playing on the family stereo, my sister and I would skate around the dining room for hours, watching the snow flakes fly outside the large picture window.
If Dad noticed his socks were vanishing, he never said anything, and if Mom knew, she kept quiet. I suspect it was because we were adding a final shine to the polished floors that never looked better than during a heavy snow.
I picked up a pair of those socks at the sporting goods store tonight. I don't know if I'll ever wear them, or if I'll just leave them in my top drawer as a constant reminder of snowy days and shiny floors.
Until the next time...I'll wrapping the gifts I bought tonight.