One of the costs of having big feet is that you tear through socks pretty quickly. Even the largest socks are made for people that are size 12 or maybe 13, not my size of 15. I’d gotten rather used to have socks with holes in them, though my wife Clancy hasn’t adopted this revised normalcy. In short, it bugs her more than it bugs me.
Since I am working on my novel this month, Clancy wonderfully agreed to do the laundry for me this month. I told her that if she felt so inclined, she could throw out any socks that had holes big enough for me to poke a toe through.
It’s been two weeks since we’ve done the laundry. I’m not sure how many socks there were that didn’t have holes in them, but there were only three that did not.