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Okay, it’s time to get serious for a moment and talk about a problem that affects tens of thousands of children and adults across America. The issue? Silly Sock Addiction. You may have gotten mail from the SSA or passed SSA/SSD buildings and assumed that it was the Social Security Administration, but I’m here to tell you, people, that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I, like many others, am Silly Sock Disabled. This is no laughing matter. See the picture below.

This pic doesn't even include my silly tights or my regular not-so-silly socks

This pic doesn’t even include my silly tights or my regular not-so-silly socks

My favorite pairs are the two in the middle of the top row with the individual toes, because they have glow-in-the-dark smiley faces on the toes. When I had my laparoscopy for endometriosis, my feet were cold while I was waiting to go in, so I took my toes out of the individual slots and wore them more like feet mittens than feet gloves*, and when I got out of surgery, one of the nurses had very carefully put each toe back in the right spot. How awesome is that? Also, this one time I was working for someone who’s grandkids came into the store, and I wanted to show them how my socks glowed, so I said, “Hey kids, want to see something really cool? Come into the bathroom with me and turn out the lights.” Their grandmother looked alarmed and I had to say she could come in, too, so she wouldn’t think I was trying to do horrible things to the kids.

So, I’m standing up today to ask for help. I think I need an intervention of some kind. I’m not sure how one weans off of an addiction like this. I mean, I self-medicate on a daily basis, sometimes wearing them paired appropriately, sometimes mixing and matching. I get through my days knowing that there’s secretly a party in my shoes. And I suspect that there is a genetic component to this disease, because my mom has a problem, too. In fact, she’s my biggest enabler. The movie Happy Feet was disappointing, because I was hoping it was a documentary about the plight of the Silly Sock Addicted. But no, it was just a documentary about dancing penguins.  Perhaps I need rehab or some kind of support group or something. I’m open to suggestion, because my sock drawer is getting out of control, and soon I’ll have to move to a bigger apartment to house bigger furniture to accommodate all these socks, and, let’s be honest, as an artist, I ain’t exactly rolling in money…rolling in socks, yes, money, no. Maybe I’d have more money if I bought fewer socks…

*Which reminds me, yesterday my husband said something about when he mouth-sneezed, and I looked at him puzzled and asked what a mouth-sneeze was? He demonstrated and I said, “Sweetie, I love you, but that’s called a cough.” If he had said that he nose-coughed, though, I totally would have gone with it.