Sock it to me

At my house, fashion is strictly observed by only the male family members. It's a varied and complicated thing, and the only rule of thumb seems to be that more is more.

For example, take socks. A seemingly simple article of clothing, especially when it comes to boys. My nephews don whatever socks they can find; the socks don't have to be clean or matching, they just have to be readily available. They are a necessary evil.

Not so with Mark. He's got a whole rule-book on what kind of socks to wear and when to wear them.

I bought him a couple 10-packs of your average boy's socks, and he rebelled. He didn't want socks that went above his ankle. So I bought him ankle socks. He liked them so much, he stole all of mine to increase his collection.

The ankle socks are great because they go with everything Mark wears: high-top sneakers, dress shoes, pants, suits, or pajamas. There's nothing better than a flash of pale white ankle to break up the monotony of navy pants and black shoes.

When he runs out of ankle socks, he simply takes the awful calf-high socks and folds them halfway across his foot so you can't see them. Apparently, he's trying to single-handedly resurrect the sock-free Miami Vice look. (I'll draw the line at five o'clock shadow!)

However, when he wears shorts, the exact opposite rule goes into effect. With shorts, Mark doesn't hide his socks; just the opposite. He regularly leaves the house like this, reminding me of an old-school newsboy in short pants and knee-high socks:



He loves to wear his soccer socks with shorts, yanking and tugging at them until they go over his knees. The brighter, the better, and he doesn't limit himself to only matching colors. I find it ironic that the boy who could never once find his soccer socks during the soccer season can now pull a matching pair out of the dresser on command.

My friend Edra described it best when she said, "Man, there's no middle ground with that guy. It's either all or nothing, knee-highs or no socks at all..."

She's right.