Because I can write about socks and someone (err, me) publishes it! And right now I want to write about socks.
Is there anything more endearing than a pair of used socks, tossed on the floor or the armchair? They still retain the shapes of the feet which wore them but they also sag, as if really tired after all that hoofing around. They look lost and tired and tiny, even when they are Big Socks:
And then there are all those widowed socks whose partners got eaten up by the Monster that hunts in the washing machine. So much drama and loneliness. I almost can't take it.
I have a pair of socks which have knitted in them this message "reading is always worthwhile." Elitist snobby socks!
They encompass the whole universe, socks do.