‘Tis a sad, sad day when one’s favorite socks wear out. You come home on a starry Sunday evening and toss your shoes off and feel an unfamiliar breeze on your heels, or a tickle of air on your toes. In the back of your mind you already know what’s happened. You sit up, your lips pursed, looking at the top of your feet. Slowly, slowly, you pull out your heels and a sigh trips out of your mouth. Behold, a patch of pink in the whale blue underbelly of your socks. Your favorite socks.

As you calculate, to no avail, exactly how much longer you can wear them, parts of your mind wander to different places. You remember the first time you wore the socks! Sloshing through that swamp with a pack on your back, wondering how exactly you will explain this to mother. You recall the next day, after washing them. You wore them to church with your nice flats. What adventures you two have had! You think wistfully to yourself.

But you know, if you truly care about them, you will let them go. You pull them out of the dryer, soft and clean, and take them to your room. You open the custard colored drawer on the bottom left – the one you know so well – and place them next to the folds of your undergarments, where you know they will be happy. After a few moments of silent homage to the socks, you pull out another pair – formerly your second favorite. Life goes on, you sigh to yourself, as you slip them onto your lonely feet and jog to the sidewalk.