DIRT DON'T HURT: Sock it to me, the warm and fuzzy feet gear

While there are many things to complain about when it comes to cold weather, one thing that allows me to celebrate it is the daily wearing of socks.

I would venture to guess most people take socks for granted because it seems putting them on is as robotic as wearing pants or sweaters, but not me. I love socks. Socks fall in different categories, but all socks do their job to help keep our feet warm and dry and always comfortable.

They are little snuggles for your toes hidden away in your shoes or slippers, like a secret bit of love no one can see unless you kick off your shoes and flash around for everyone to enjoy.

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Some are stinky; some are holey 'Sunday Socks'

It may come as no surprise to know sometimes socks really stink. Literally. I have had socks so stiff with odor that they could practically walk away on their own and throw themselves into a fire to be put out of their own misery.

I also have had socks that have been so well loved and worn that they take on the affectionate nickname of “Sunday Socks” because they are so holey. Heels pop through, toes pop through. Sometimes there’s not much left at all but I can’t bear to throw them away because somehow socks take on meaning after you’ve had them for a while.

This drives my husband crazy. He doesn’t love socks as much as I do.

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Socks in all sorts make for happy feet

I have socks with hidden words on the toes or the bottoms no one can see. I have thick socks for cold days and cozy nights. I have long socks, short socks and homemade socks I’ll never part with and that I treat like priceless gems, because they feel that way to me.

These are not socks to be toyed with, to just be thrown in the washer and dryer, where they could possibly disappear, never to be seen again. Why do socks disappear? Where could they possibly go? And more importantly, what do you do with the sock widows?

I have a stash of them, too stubborn to let them go. I was once gifted a pair of socks that has text on the bottom. “If you can read this” says one. “Bring me a cup of coffee” says the other. Except I lost one and now there’s a sad and lonely “If you can read this” sock waiting for its partner in crime to give me toe snuggles and be propped up on the couch.

And then I’ll wait for someone to bring me a cup of coffee so my hands and belly are as warm and as happy as my feet.

This article originally appeared on The Daily Record: Nothing like socks to warm the heart on a cold wintry day