Poor Richard’s Almanac

It has been brought to our friend Ben’s attention that my name is being taken in vain over at Aunt Debbi’s Garden (http://auntdebbisgarden.blogspot.com/) in conjunction with the infamous Sock Wars. A new sock-related skirmish apparently broke out between Kate at The Manic Gardener and James of Blackpitts, and has now escalated to Napoleonic proportions (in terms of warfare, not height). VP of VegPlotting, Cinj of Cinj’s Chat Room, and innumerable others, including, of course, Aunt Debbi herself, have been embroiled in the battle and are potential casualties, though, as far as I can tell, there have not yet been any fatalities. Our friend Ben can only hope that these latest hostilities will prove to be all socks’ Waterloo.

It all began some months back when Aunt Debbi polled readers on their feelings about socks—knee socks, fuzzy socks, anklets, and so on. Some readers embraced all socks, others made exceptions for various sock categories, but only our friend Ben rejected all socks outright. (Apparently with secret support from VP.)

Let me make myself clear: I hate socks. I hate shoes. I hate anything that confines my God-given feet. Our friend Ben is a Southerner born and bred, and anything that comes between my bare feet and the ground, floor, rug, etc. is anathema to me. Wearing shoes is bad enough, but in the interest of traversing hot pavement, sharp gravel, trashed city streets, and muddy terrain, I can see the point, as long as the shoes can come off the second one gets comfortably indoors.

But socks! Yet another confining layer. Binding the toes, suffocating the feet, deadening sensation. One more %$#@!!*&% thing to wash and laboriously extract from the laundry to hang-dry while everything else sails cheerfully through the dryer. (And then the damned things show their ingratitude by disappearing, one by one.) Oh, noooooo!!!! The way I look at it, if God wanted us to wear wool or cotton on our feet, we’d have been born sheep or cotton bolls. Our friend Ben is taking up a new slogan: Free Your Feet, Say No to Socks! (If your circumstances permit, you’re welcome to adopt my alternative slogan: Socks Suck!!!)

In the meantime, the beleaguered Ben has been invited to duel with cooked pasta, wet socks, and even dead fish to defend my anti-sock stance. (See Aunt Debbi’s posts, “The Sock Situation Is Not Over” and “High Noon at Aunt Debbi’s Garden the Spaghetti War Begins,” which includes a classic photo of a sock-encrusted tree, for more on the whole sock-wars story.) In turn, I challenge anyone who embraces a sock-constricted lifestyle—you poor, misguided souls!!!—to a duel with rotten tomatoes at twenty paces.

In the time-honored political tradition, I’m appointing our chickens to stand in as duelists for me. They adore tomatoes of all kinds, even when well past the point of human consumption. (I am still unsuccessfully trying to obliterate from memory a recent Tomato Casual post that suggested using rotten, mold-encrusted tomatoes to make an uncooked soup. The visual I immediately had of this is burned, brand-like, into my brain. Thanks too much, TC. I’m sure I needed that like a new pair of socks.) I will, however, lurk nearby behind the safety of a well-constructed barrier in the person of our enormous golden retriever, Molly, and lob the occasional tomato bomb should the chickens appear to be flagging.

So do your worst, sock-lovers! And just think: When the tomato pulp settles, you won’t even have to process those suckers to make a batch of rotten-tomato soup—unless the chickens beat you to ‘em. And let me remind you: This time, God is on my side! Repent and ditch those horrible foot coverings before it’s too late. Otherwise, I may be forced to go to the nuclear option and unleash a host of sock-eating locusts upon your sock drawers. Don’t make me do it!!!

Uh-oh, here comes Silence Dogood. And belying her name once again, she’s co-opting this post in the interest of having her say. Our friend Ben (hastily) signing off!

Postscript from Silence:

Silence Dogood here. Ben, you moron, what are you thinking?! Have you, by any chance, observed rising gas and oil prices? Let me repeat: OIL PRICES. How do we heat the house here at Hawk’s Haven? Uh-huh, OIL HEAT. I know it’s July, and your memory’s not exactly Olympic-caliber, but do you by any chance remember winter? Our long, cold, Pennsylvania winters? Our upcoming long, cold, Pennsylvania winter when we can either eat or crank up the OIL HEAT to, say, a whopping 65 degrees?

What’s my point, you ask? My point is, since not eating isn’t really a great option, you’re going to find that you suddenly love socks—as well as scarves, hats, vests, undershirts, slippers, and all the other heavy, confining stuff you understandably hate now—when we’re forced to keep the ambient temperature of the house at, say, 55, in the interest of preserving even a vestige of solvency.

Remember all those Victorian novels where the protagonists were battling chillblains in their delightful, comforting, frozen winter homes? Hey, guy, that’s gonna be us. Heating bricks on the stove to put in the bed before we get into it, so we don’t freeze to death. Looking for bargain long johns. Investing in cayenne cream to warm our extremities. Wearing nightcaps, mittens, and socks to bed, while cowering under towering layers of comforters and wool blankets and praying you don’t really have to get up to go to the bathroom during the long, bitterly cold night.

Sound like fun? Didn’t think so. But you have a few months to get used to it. Meanwhile, I’m going to show what a loving, big-hearted person I am and help you out. I’m going to start a “Send Ben Socks” campaign.

Sock-lovers everywhere, feel free to contribute a pair to reform our friend Ben while there’s still time before we’re heading to the emergency room to hear the bad news about his frostbitten toes this winter. No ugly socks, please—let’s encourage Ben to embrace the idea of socks by sending him some attractive, appealing socks. Ben can look over all the socks we receive and select the pairs that appeal most to him, and we can auction the rest here at Poor Richard’s Almanac to raise money to pay our heating bills. If you hand-make socks, note that Ben has rather large feet, so please be generous in your sizing.

Thanks to all who choose to contribute to converting our friend Ben to the One True Way! And remember, sprinkling a little ground cayenne in your socks before crawling into bed will help keep your feet and toes toasty warm, even when you have to lower that thermostat.

                ‘Til next time,

                           Silence