Author's note: The weather cooled off last week and I ended up opening the sock drawer for the first time since April. Of course since then it got hot again but don't tell the socks...


Ode to a sweet reunion
Well, hello socks. It’s been a while hasn’t it? But don’t worry – no longer shall I be gallivanting around town sockless a la Tubbs and Crockett. There is chill is in the air that only brings me closer to you.

For months I’ve been seen everywhere with my feet scantily clad by those racy summertime harlots, my sandals, while sipping on Mojitos and sitting under the breeze of the nearest fan. My lord, how foolish I must have looked, like a middle aged married man drunkenly showing off a young girlfriend in a crowded bar.

At times I thought that summer would last forever. But they never do, do they my dear socks? Your annual re-emergence is proof that time marches on, seasons come and seasons go. Soon the cold weather will strip the blossoms bare and little old me, why I’ll be wrapped up head to toe in woollies, teeth chattering, cursing the depths of winter, praying that it won’t last forever; but let’s not go there just yet, for now the scarves, hats and gloves remain stored away. For now let’s enjoy our sweet, selfish and intimate reunion.

Autumn has arrived and with it a pleasantly cool air. Now like two young student lovers after a long summer apart, we shall go everywhere together, be seen by everyone around this campus people call Hanoi; we shall be inseparable once more. Each morning my feet will slip unto you, like… well, like a hand would unto a glove, but let’s not speak of those distant and lofty relatives of yours, let us speak of us.

I know I have said some foolish things in the past, haven’t we all dear socks. Once I remember declaring it was a joy to be so free and easy in the foot department and how I could live, quite happily, without you forever more.

I admit that my house smelt approximately nine thousand times better with out sweaty-Argyles and malodorous thermals lying around the house, but how can I fault you for my own body’s rank emissions?

You certainly never complained. You soaked it all up and it all came out in the wash (with the kind assistance of my dear housekeeper). Then when the sun broke and the sounds of summer hummed, I callously tied you all up into a giant socktupus (the freeform creation, which occurs when 22 pairs of old socks and a few dozen odd socks become one entity), slid open this drawer and hurled you into the darkness of exile and solitude – with the exception of my old unworn underpants, who have their own brave and chequered history to make peace with.

But you, my dear socks, your summertime hibernation is at an end; we shall dilly-dally no more. From here on out, with the exception of those of you that have too many holes and will be turned into dusters (alas, the sword must outwear its sheath), we shall go a-roving once more!

With the exception of really hot late Autumn days that is.

By Teddy de Burca Jnr.