Lost in the Supermarket

See? The power of suggestion. Now, like it or not, you'll have The Clash stuck in your head for the rest of the day (you could do worse, you realize). Wednesday evening, my wife and I vamped for time in the Massive Mart while getting filled two (more) prescriptions that I'll be taking before my surgery (I like to live on the edge).

One is to 'protect' my heart, my Primary Care physician, Dr. E., told me Monday. I've already started that one. Sure wish I'd had it years ago when Genevieve F. and Marie R. (in rapid succession. come to think of it) broke my heart into thirty-five pieces back when my hair was(n't) short. The other medication is from my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. G., and I take it the morning of surgery to help lower the chances of infection. He patiently explained to me that my odds, as a diabetic, of developing infection are far higher than those of 'a normal person.'

You'd think, this close to two large casinos, I might actually be able to use 'elevated odds' in my favor; if not for the slots, then how about a table game? Heqq, how about the CT Lottery? It doesn't need to be a grand prize, just a nice prize. So much for the Prize Patrol. Instead make way for The Masque of the Red Death.

Anyway. I needed (= really wanted) to get softer socks. Do NOT laugh. We diabetics have a drill we do everyday with our feet and I'm grateful I can still see them when I look down, and they seem to still be attached, so I go through the drill every morning. However, "X" number of times through the washer and drier and the socks start to head South in terms of softness (and it's not helped by an idiot like me not knowing the difference between Dacron or cotton and acrylic and Cyrillic (I think. Komrade Tootsie, haven't seen you since Lenin's Tomb!)).

My wife knows all about everything useful (and more) and has such superlative judgment and taste in so many areas, that, left to float in the air like a bad smell, is the unasked question of how the heqq did she end up with me? I've theorized, it was a Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School (mine, for obvious reasons) and I'm impressed with he spirit of generosity.

In short order (we had about a fifty-minute wait at the pharmacy to fill the two scripts), she had found the 'just right' kind of socks and so impressed was I that I vowed to remember the type and share it with you and it's amazing I remembered to even write this, so guess what happened to the rest of the pledge? Yeah, Gone with the Socks (or barefoot, either, Scarlett and let's not talk about pregnant, okay?).

She grabbed them up in every color available (I used to wear only white socks more or less in honor of Raymond Douglas Davies of The Kinks and then I heard he wore them in my honor and that was just too creepy), so now I have a rainbow collection that will be seen every day for exactly the amount of time it takes me to get my shoes on after I put the socks on.

At the checkout, I realized I've finally arrived--these are the high class article! Each pair comes on its own teeny, tiny hanger. With all that we're learning to live without or cutback on, it's nice before I shuffle off this mortal coil to look for my comfortable socks not jammed into a sock drawer in my nightstand but rather, like the rich and vacuous, in a closet, on the rack just above the cruel shoes.
-bill kenny