Saturday, July 15, 2006
I have a theory about socks. Basically, it goes like this: When you buy a new pair, you know they'll only last a few months, or maybe a year, tops, so you never really commit to them. You're just using them, having a good time with them until they become gross and dirty, and then you get rid of them. They're like women, basically.
I went to Wal-Mart today to buy some new socks, white ones. I got a 7-pack (normally a six-pack, but with one bonus pair) for $3.77 and was on my way to the checkout stand when I spotted a girl who looked very familiar. She recognized me too, and came over to say hi. She was with a fairly good-looking guy, a little shorter than me, with dark hair and gloomy features. He was undoubtedly the best-dressed man in Wal-Mart, wearing a neatly pressed maroon polo shirt, and a pair of dark jeans over expensive looking shoes. She asked how I was doing, and I said "Fine" or something similarly mundane, while I hesitated, not knowing if I should stop and chat or keep walking. One glance at her male escort was all I needed to decide to keep walking. The guy was staring me down, sort of like a boxer will do to his opponent before a bout, trying to look as mean and ugly as possible. Don't animals do the same thing? What a moron.
The girl, it turns out, is someone who I was set up on a blind date with about two months ago. She was sweet, engaging, and above everything else, classy. What do I mean by classy? Well, she didn't have to show off her boobs to look attractive. She used good grammar and didn't use profanity. She had good table manners. She let me open the door for her (she expected it!) and she didn't ask why I insisted on walking on her right side, closest to traffic. She didn't empty my wallet at the restaurant, and she was satisfied with a nice, leisurely stroll down 25th Street after dinner instead of a movie or some other expensive outing. She also has a degree from BYU, a respectable job as a mechanical engineer, and comes from good stock (her father is a well-respected attorney in Salt Lake). All-in-all, a class act.
That's why I wasn't surprised by the way she handled our chance encounter at Wal-Mart. She was nice, but not too nice, and politely brief. She probably should have introduced me to the loser she was with, but no one's perfect. Maybe she sensed that an introduction would have been awkward and decided to refrain. She played it by ear, and she played in beautifully. Part of me wanted to drop to one knee on the filthy white linoleum and propose to her right there. Why'd I let her go?
I know what you're thinking now. How does a perfect woman like this mesh with the misogynistic women-as-socks metaphor I described earlier? Well, be assured, the metaphor is sound. Near-perfect women like the one I described (I forgot her name) aren't your average white socks. They're colored. They're the socks you might wear once a month, or twice a year, to church, or to a funeral. They're your black socks, your beige socks, your olive socks. They remain pristine, free from holes and abuse. They're worth keeping around for years. What's sad is that all your socks can't be colored. Why not, you ask? Well, have you noticed the kind of men who only wear colored socks? They're freaking nerds.
I went to Wal-Mart today to buy some new socks, white ones. I got a 7-pack (normally a six-pack, but with one bonus pair) for $3.77 and was on my way to the checkout stand when I spotted a girl who looked very familiar. She recognized me too, and came over to say hi. She was with a fairly good-looking guy, a little shorter than me, with dark hair and gloomy features. He was undoubtedly the best-dressed man in Wal-Mart, wearing a neatly pressed maroon polo shirt, and a pair of dark jeans over expensive looking shoes. She asked how I was doing, and I said "Fine" or something similarly mundane, while I hesitated, not knowing if I should stop and chat or keep walking. One glance at her male escort was all I needed to decide to keep walking. The guy was staring me down, sort of like a boxer will do to his opponent before a bout, trying to look as mean and ugly as possible. Don't animals do the same thing? What a moron.
The girl, it turns out, is someone who I was set up on a blind date with about two months ago. She was sweet, engaging, and above everything else, classy. What do I mean by classy? Well, she didn't have to show off her boobs to look attractive. She used good grammar and didn't use profanity. She had good table manners. She let me open the door for her (she expected it!) and she didn't ask why I insisted on walking on her right side, closest to traffic. She didn't empty my wallet at the restaurant, and she was satisfied with a nice, leisurely stroll down 25th Street after dinner instead of a movie or some other expensive outing. She also has a degree from BYU, a respectable job as a mechanical engineer, and comes from good stock (her father is a well-respected attorney in Salt Lake). All-in-all, a class act.
That's why I wasn't surprised by the way she handled our chance encounter at Wal-Mart. She was nice, but not too nice, and politely brief. She probably should have introduced me to the loser she was with, but no one's perfect. Maybe she sensed that an introduction would have been awkward and decided to refrain. She played it by ear, and she played in beautifully. Part of me wanted to drop to one knee on the filthy white linoleum and propose to her right there. Why'd I let her go?
I know what you're thinking now. How does a perfect woman like this mesh with the misogynistic women-as-socks metaphor I described earlier? Well, be assured, the metaphor is sound. Near-perfect women like the one I described (I forgot her name) aren't your average white socks. They're colored. They're the socks you might wear once a month, or twice a year, to church, or to a funeral. They're your black socks, your beige socks, your olive socks. They remain pristine, free from holes and abuse. They're worth keeping around for years. What's sad is that all your socks can't be colored. Why not, you ask? Well, have you noticed the kind of men who only wear colored socks? They're freaking nerds.
# posted by RBW @ 4:06 PM 
