Socks – an open letter about socks

As I have been purchasing a lot of hiking gear recently I thought it only right that the manufacturer should get feedback concerning the products I’ll be utilising for the Mic, Bike ‘n’ Hike 

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For those of you who can’t read that the email goes:

Hi Karrimor,

I recently purchased a pack of your magnificent Karrimor Pro Trek Walking socks for a particularly gruelling walking event I have coming up and I have to say I’m very impressed. I’m always a little anxious when I buy any socks as I find they fall into two camps. The first is the Grandma’s rough touch woollens. Made from the finest barb wire but held together with love, these socks are the footwear equivalent of Guantanamo Bay. As they tighten around your toes they induce an itching/burning you’ve only experienced through sexual experimentation and deep muscle pain relief. You’d throw them away immediately if they hadn’t been a gift from your crochet crazy Great Grandmother, sent to you weeks before she died from loneliness. You leave them at the bottom of the drawer knowing full well you have other socks you can use in their place and thus assuaging any guilt you might feel from disposing of these monstrous medieval torture devices. However, once in a while, you forget your sock level is running close to empty, it’s been a busy week and there hasn’t been time to load the washing machine let alone hang anything out to dry, and you’re left with these woollen woes staring up at you. Maybe they’re not as bad as you remember, you think to yourself innocently, maybe they’re fine. You couldn’t be more wrong. The moment you tug these chunky foot bags onto your feet you’re struck with an unpleasant sensation you’re not used to, that of a thousand fireants all attempting to reduce your fine foot to raw bone. No these socks are not for wearing, they’re a distant remnant of a bygone era where trenchfoot was rife and malicious merino was used to remind the wearer of their loved ones.
The second is the illusion of thinness. You’re lulled into a false sense of security as you slide the seductive sheath over your smooth foot, the coolness of the fabric scintillating your senses and awakening thoughts in you suggesting that today you can be a bit more frivolous, today you don’t need to just walk to work you can skip a little. Those socks open up possibilities in you that only lay in the land of whimsy before, a land you had never been able to get to as the entrance is a long polished corridor and your only method of transport was sliding down it.These socks could take you through that open door. That is until the betrayal. It starts out as a little extra fabric gathering at your heel, something you barely notice as you dance “singing in the rain” style down the high street, you take no heed instead revelling in the feet based freedom you’ve only ever dreamt of. Suddenly there’s a cold tug and you feel your new sock retreating into your shoe. Like a dishonoured samurai fleeing his master’s burning castle this defender of your cotton comfort retreats into the dark. Your heel touches shoe and the revulsion is too much for your whimsical morning cheer, the happiness is shattered and you’re left empty, the emotional rollercoaster of the day’s asockalypse leaving a lingering distrust for thin footwear. This is perhaps the worst of the two types.
As the event I will be utilising your socks for is a tough one I was doubly worried about them, you can find info here, I shouldn’t have been. Your socks provide the perfect balance of support and comfort. Like the first glass of wine on a Friday evening these socks refreshed while relaxing me. I wore them around the house, striding confidently from room to room, proud that I had made such an excellent decision when previous footwear based follies had occurred. Even in a real world performance test these socks were head and shoulders (although not actually as that would have rendered them useless) above the rest. Unlike my rather distant father these socks gave support when needed and like my over protective mother they shielded me from all external interference on my journey. So this is just an email to say thank you Karrimor, thank you for being the father I never had and being the mother I never wanted.
Yours comfortably.
Chris Purchase

P.S. Have you ever thought about making underpants?

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