A Slight German Sock Fetish

It was on my first trip to visit my son in Munich Germany in late 2002 that I became acquainted with German socks. I don't remember the circumstances that led to my need for socks while on holiday, but it must have had something to do with my aching feet. Urban hiking in Europe with my son, Phil, can be excruciatingly painful at times, not that I would have agreed to miss even a step.

Back to my new socks. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... ooooooooooooooooooohhhhh ... oahaohoahaohaohaohhhhh ... I don't want to get too graphic, but Virgos like me love their feet to feel that way. Akin to the most tender touch a foot masseuse could render on my feet were these socks. Real, organic cotton.

After wearing German socks one day, I determined that I could not, would not, live without these socks, so I bought up the limited inventory at the department store, Galleria Kaufhof. I bought yet another pair at the airport. And German socks were amongst souvenirs procured on three subsequent Europe trips, not to mention they were mailed home to me as Christmas gifts.

German socks last a long time, but eventually they wear out. Four years went by and the furthest out of the country any of us went was to Canada and Mexico. My supplies were wearing thin. Last year, when I found out that family members of some of my daughter's friends were going to be in Germany, I went outside my comfort zone and asked, much to the embarrassment of my daughter, if they would get me some German socks. At the time, the euro-US$ exchange rate was obscene but I (gladly) paid $10 a pair for my socks to be brought back.

So now, sadly, I'm about to open my last package of socks. But gloriously, Europe is on the agenda this summer, for my son, and with any luck, for me, too.

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...I don't know what it is about German socks, but I love 'em.