Just a sock...

Years ago I worked in a library - in the record department a very alluring teenage colleague loaned tapes to lustful young men all day. On her day off they'd halt, disconsolate, at the door and mutter, 'It's not her' or a single sad, 'Oh!'. This was a little deflating for those of us who stood in for her occasionally.

Fast forward two decades and sometimes potential customers, probably looking for cupcakes, push open the door of Three Bags Full and mutter 'Oh, it's just wool in here!'. Just wool? Whatever do they mean? - an oxymoron if ever I heard one.

Anyway, this all sprang to mind last night when I showed my daughter my latest sock.  It's not a pair yet, but it's a whole sock and the wonder of being able to produce an actual sock- with shaping that goes round corners and everything - well, I don't think it'll ever leave me. Inevitably, as I held it up with a proud 'Look!!', she smiled kindly and said, 'Yes, but it's just a sock, Mum.' And I got that old deflated feeling. Just a sock indeed.