I am generally not concerned with fashion choices. I am not opposed to wearing colors that clash or displaying a weird mix of styles. My concern for what I wear plummets if I know I will not be surrounded by a lot of people.
Yesterday, after showering of
the dust from a day in the woods, I scooped a pair of socks from my dresser and
pulled them on without much thought.
Only when I tweaked the second sock for a better fit did I realize they
were not a match.
I studied my socks briefly,
shrugged, and then padded off to the living room.
As soon as I bumped into
Desiree, I pointed out my socks. “They
don’t match,” I admitted, “But they are in the same family, so I am going to
run with them.”
I am pretty sure my choices
make her proud.
I have posted a photograph of
my not-quite-matched socks. As I look at
the photo now, I am reminded of what one of my electrician coworkers always
told me whenever I showed him a bit of conduit work I was proud of. “Well,” he would tease, “It’s as good as you
can do.”
In the Same Family
—Mitchell Hegman
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