Support Socks

Dear readers, your humble writer recently discovered something of great magnitude. This breakthrough is way too important to keep to myself. The disemenation of the information in this little blog post could change the very course of the world. It's that momentous.

Please take three deep cleansing breaths, eyes closed, to ready your mind.

One.

Two.

Three. Ahhhh. Are you open to the possibility of living at a new level of consciousness? Yes, you are?

Your writer has stumbled (forgive the pun) upon the secret of happiness. Contentment. Being at peace with one's world. Fulfillment, serenity, you name it. Better than drugs, the legal sort of which all have pesky side effects, and the illicit ones which carry peskier jail sentences along with significant health risks. Much better than today's organized religion, which seems to make people feel the need to (a) blow up folks of different faiths, (b) feel all superior to folks with differing beliefs, because nanny nanny boo boo we're the only ones going to Heaven, (c) justify the need to go to people who are perfectly content with the beliefs they learned from their ancestors and convert them due to (b), or (d) just gives us reasons to feel different from "them" whoever "them" is. This secret is even better than yoga, because there's virtually no time or effort involved.

A writer with different motivation than your humble one would find a way to market this magnificent discovery, but no, this is too sacred to taint with commercial gain.

Support socks.

Your writer found herself challenged in the sock department of late. Walking dogs five miles a day, coupled with abject poverty, lends one to holey footwear. (Wholly holey, but not holy.) Compounding the problem is Swede William's predilection of carrying my socks to far corners of the house, proudly, giving them a good-hearted shake along the way. So, as I was dressing for a job interview, I asked Bill if he had any thin socks I might borrow.

"Yes," he said, tossing me a pair. "In fact, you may keep these. I never wear them."

Little did I know, dear readers, that my world was about to change.

Now, let me clear up a potential confusion, before I go one step farther. Your writer has plenty of support hose. Panty hose are the work of the devil. They cut the circulation to your spleen, and cause gaseous distention at the transverse colon. Oh they are hideous evil.

We're talking support socks.

As I tried to put these precious gifts on, I said, "Ummf." This was proving to be no easy feat. I remembered my days as a hospital RN, putting TEDD hose on portly patients. It's all in the technique, and in no time my legs were bathed in support, from just below the knees, down. My toes were free to spread and breathe, but around my instep and arch was a most delicious snugness. I was immediately struck with a sense of well-being and joy.

Oh! These feel good!"

... to be continued HERE

hug your hounds, meanwhile, and by all means find yourselves some support socks

(Image from Google Images)