Mis-Matched Memories

College.

A time of growth.

Learning.

Discovery.

And how to make our own meals.

And do our own laundry.

Sigh.

Laundry day was nearing.

I could tell because, suddenly, there was room for everything in my dresser.

And I was down to my last two socks.

One red.

One brown.

I stared at them.

Then, shrugging, pulled them on. The weather was chilly and they were necessities.

And in the rush to get out the door for my 8:00 class, I forgot them.

Sometime later, I had removed my shoes (I don’t remember why) and was sitting on the floor in the hallway outside the Journalism room with a couple of friends.

Chatting.

People were walking past us.

An astonishing number remarked on my mis-matched socks.

It was more attention than I had ever gotten.

Hmmm.

From that day on, I never wore matching socks.

I even shopped deliberately for socks of the same make, but different colours, so they could be selectively mixed.

Sometimes, I even wore mis-matched shoes.

Call it a fashion statement.

It was . . . fun.

Move ahead forty years.

My Husby and I were shopping at one of the big box stores in Lethbridge.

We were down for a visit and enjoying the old familiar sights.

“Diane, is that you?”

I turned. One of my Journalism instructors, with her Husby, was standing behind me in the line.

There was the usual frantic ‘catching up’.

As the line slowly moved forward.

Then her Husby said, “Show me your socks!”

Some people are remembered for their great contributions to world peace.

For art.

Music.

Science.

Me?

I’m remembered for socks.