Fresh socks: a theory

ALMOST never will I throw out something that is still usable. I am a frugal person. Whenever I see something that is only slightly broken, I tend to spend more energy fixing it than it would take to go get a new one. This applies to just about everything that I own from computers to key chains. Even my wardrobe falls under this principle. For instance, my Dad gave me a jacket with a silky lining in it. The jacket is fine but after much wear the lining is FUBAR. I have on more than one occasion spent hours stitching back together this gossimer fabric. The jacket still works though, I wore it today in fact. Now for the longest time, I have put up with my socks simply because they refuse to die. They are threadbare or stiff or weakly elastic, but they work. They keep my foot covered. Recently my resolve grew and I decided that I would, in one swift coup, throw out my entire sock drawer and get a new sock wardrobe full of plush new socks.
There is nothing exciting about buying socks but I feel that I must mention my confused interest in the fact that they came in a resealable bag. What reason could one ever have for keeping their new socks in an airtight bag? At first I thought it was ridiculous, but then I realized. New socks are a treat. The first time you wear them, your feet feel special. After the first washing, the socks loose their magic. They are still good, but they are not new socks, and each subsequent washing carries away a little more of the memory of that first virgin experience. Until you are left with socks that, like my ex socks, carry on bereft of all their former glory. On that first wearing your foot is treated with the kind of respect it deserves for carrying your heavy frame everywhere your brain decides to go. Sliding your foot into that soft, warm and sweat absorbant fabric is one of the best ways to start off your day. It is an experience that should be savored, saved or at least kept fresh in a resealable bag.