Thursday, October 28, 2010

Digital Display

Among the many things I have never bothered to learn (an ever-growing list I might add) is whether toes are called by names similar to their cousins the fingers. Thanks to Harold Ramis and Bill Murray I know that the "big toe" is called Sgt. Hulka (as opposed to the "foot thumb" or some such thing) but I am at a loss as to the others. Do we have an index toe? A ring toe? A middle toe? I know not.

At the risk of misidentifying them, which seems incredibly cruel because our toes have suffered enough after all (athlete's foot, clogs, walking into the corners of desks, mud puddles), for purposes of illustration I will refer to them for purposes of this piece by their nom de piggy. For those of us who either slept through kindergarten or have never seen a Geico commercial, the fab five are: the one who went to the market, the one who stayed home, the one who ate roast beef, the one who had none and.......Max. Man I do love that commercial - although I wish my attempted reenactment of it on the Parkway had worked out a bit better for Margaret and me - and my pinwheel.

I head off to work by about 4:00 a.m. every morning. It likely sounds far more impressive than it actually is. As the song says, "You get used to anything. Sooner or later it becomes your life." One of the things I have gotten used to is getting dressed in limited light. I like to think (or hope anyway) that far more often than not what I wear out in public does not look like it was put together by someone in the dark. Often the trickiest part of the dressing process is finding the right pair of socks. Sounds simple but as my experience this week reminded me it is not always necessarily so.

Tuesday morning I had to go to Warren County to finish my trial. Seeing that the last piece of work to be completed was summations by the attorneys, I wanted to make sure that I looked as presentable as possible. Apparently however while dressing Tuesday morning I got a little bit sloppy. I opted for a pair of socks that - as luck would have it - had a small hole in the left one (slightly closer to the one who stayed home than the one who ate roast beef). I must confess that I did not notice it either while I was putting them on - or on the ride to the office for that matter. I think in fact that the first time I noticed that I had dual piggies dueling for freedom from a thin layer of a cotton/poly blend was when I stood up in the courtroom to begin my summation.

By the time the jury's verdict was read by the foreperson two hours later, the hole in my sock had been given rise to an all-out jailbreak and the one who stayed home and the one who ate roast beef had escaped completely. While the jury's verdict was 6-0 in favor of my client, inside of my left shoe the vote was much closer: 3 stayed put while 2 attempted to run for it.

I managed to make it through the rest of my Tuesday without ending up wearing a garter where my left sock once was. Upon arriving home Tuesday night, I promptly disposed of them......

.....which is why it seemed so improbable that I would wake up yesterday morning and manage to pluck from my seemingly endless sock drawer yet another pair of slightly defective dark-colored dress socks. Yet I did. Again - in my defense - these two were rather stealthy little bastards. Well at least the right one was. And once again it was those two troublemaking little piggies - the homebody and the roast beef eater - who conspired to screw me. At some point after I arrived at the office but before I had headed off to Jersey City for court what had been an indiscernible little sliver had exploded into a full-fledged levee break. By day's end, yet another pair of socks had been retired to that big sock drawer in the sky.

Man am I ready for spring already. I love flip flop weather. Not a sock to be worn.


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