This is a product review, sort of.
I like socks. Having always suffered from cold extremities, I like socks even more than you like socks. Last month, my friend came to stay and we had the SAME socks on – silly owl socks. What are the chances of that happening? Slim. If you consider all the socks in the world, and all the socks in both our sock collections, it’s rather an incredible coincidence, even if you do stop to consider we both like owls and both like silly socks. I know for a fact not all my socks are silly owl socks, and I know she also likes silly cat socks too. It was a great day in sock world.
As was one day last week, when my new socks arrived from Chatty Feet – the happy sock people.
Then I made the mistake of opening them up in front of my sister.
Not the sister I talk about a lot here, but the one I talk about less often, despite the fact she deserves to have a book written about her.
This sister of mine, Pip, is rather special. She is hands down the most beautiful person I know, because her soul radiates goodness, innocence, charm and humour. She has learning difficulties, as she was born with a condition called Microcephaly, which I won’t harp on about. In short, it means she doesn’t see the world like we do. She doesn’t care about the things we care about – and spending time with her is a very humbling experience.
Still, I was hoping to keep these socks for myself. ‘Oo, I like socks,’ she said as I showed her the Prof. Brian Sox and the Murdoc.
Does she like socks as much as I like puns? I highly doubt it.
‘Yes, I know you do Pip, you like anything you can get your grubby mitts on. But these are my socks.’
“Professor Brian Sox”
‘You’ve got two pairs here. I think I should have one,’ she said, which was hard to argue with.
I should also mention that my sister is partially sighted and these incredibly bright socks were now right up in her face as she inspected them, deciding which pair she was going to hone in on in her attempt to pilfer them from me.
‘I prefer the Murdocs,’ she said matter-of-factly, which was a relief, because if there is a pun behind the Murdocs, I don’t get it. Whereas Prof Brian Sox is right on my level. If I was going to have to let go of one pair, it would be the pair I didn’t get the joke on.
‘Ok, after I’ve written the blog, you can have one of the pairs,’ I said. So charitable. The things I do for my special needs sister. Sometimes when I’m being particularly useless, my husband likes to say that Pip has a special needs sister. Hil-ar-ious.
I put the socks on and had a play. It was rather like Terry Alderton’s skit where he lies on the stage floor, gets his feet up in the air, adorned in sparkling Converse as they are, and his feet chat to each other. Except, I didn’t have an audience – I was only entertaining myself.
Terry Alderton, one of my favourite comedians of all time, is now a regular cast member of Eastenders. He’s playing cockney cab driver Terry Spraggan. I don’t watch Eastenders, but with the addition of Terry and Danny Dyer, I’m seriously reconsidering my decision to trade in my television for (losing) scratch cards.
I spent some time enjoying my chatty socks.
I could have had my right foot, Brian, talking to my left foot, Murdoc, for hours.
Pip’s weekend with me came to an end and she and Mum left. Admittedly, without the socks. When I saw they were still in my possession, I thought oh well, all the more socks for me.
Ten minutes after Pip left, the phone rang. I said hello.
‘Um… the colourful socks?’ she said. Not even a hello. No point in formalities when I haven’t fulfilled my promise to give her 50% of my Chatty Feet.
Well, even the coldest of hearts would melt. Of course I’m posting the socks to her immediately. Maybe even both pairs. Just look at this little face. How can I resist? Now she’ll have happy feet and I’ll have a happy heart.