Title: (mis)Matched
Fandom: Original
Rating: General
Length: 240 words
Content notes: Choose Not To Warn
Author notes: #alexseanchai's parents' a+ parenting
Summary: Socks.


The socks my parents bought me,
my mother stitched a knot in every toe seam
so we would all know
which samey scratchy white socks
belonged to which of her five children
without wasting time in matching
or checking sizes against feet.
She chose the brand and style
to spend less money for more socks.
Sockless, shoes are torment, and
I didn't dare go barefoot—
who knows what dirt the school floors had?
My socks' threads were blue.

The socks I bought with my own paycheck
from my parents' quiet basement,
I bought in charcoal and in navy
and one pair in pale blue.
They were softer, and distinctive
next to my parents' and my sisters',
and work-appropriate,
and Sierra Club–approved.
I still wore leather sandals
when it was warm enough I could.
Matching socks was easy—
grab two of the same hue.

Those socks are wearing thin now.
I could get more—I checked—
but straw's the only color still
in stock. My housemate lent me one pair
from the last batch of socks they bought,
so I would know how these would feel
and if more like this would do.
My parents never asked that.
We bought a bunch of four-packs—
some grayscale, some pastel—
and each took half of every color,
and traded pink for speckled gray.
I didn't know socks came this soft.
I can pair lavender with charcoal,
if I choose to, or speckled gray with blue.