Meet the Oppressor

hello and happy wednesday, comrades. i have been meaning to write this post for a while, but as usual, i kept forgetting. lucky for you lucksters, i remembered today, so here we go. as is basically public knowledge by now, you should all be aware of the fact that i despise clothing and avoid wearing it at all costs. obviously, being a resident of canada puts a fairly large obstacle called "winter" in the way of year round nudity, but i remain naked in spirit. without getting into a whole discussion of the where and whyfore of nakedness, i will say briefly that i just find clothes oppressive, and none so much as these:

having grown up in a small town playing outside and being raised by rather hippy-ish parentals, i spent most of my formative years barefoot. when absolutely necessary, i am told i wore rubber boots but still decided to forgo the socks. this has left an indelible mark on me; a mark of sock hatred. even sitting here, writing this, i am thinking about how damp my feet are and how inadequately my socks are absorbing my sweat. i am thinking about how i would rather be barefoot or at least in sandals instead of having my poor toes trapped in their coffin-like shoes, shrouded in poly-cotton blends like sad lonely mummies.

as if WEARING socks isnt bad enough, i also spend most of every morning searching for socks that are going to be sufficient for my purposes. it seems like no matter how often i do laundry and no matter how many pairs of socks i purchase, there are never enough to get through the week. in this sick and passive aggressive way, socks oppress me, day in and day out.

i admit this is partially a problem of my own invention. my ever increasing triathlon training is forcing me through multiple pairs of socks in a day just for comfort and to avoid athletes foot. also i am admittedly guilty of what i like to call "secret spite" (although i suppose after i finish writing this, it will be a secret no longer). secret spite is basically where i act really immature and do things that i know my mother would hate JUST BECAUSE I CAN. this includes but is not limited to: not moving furniture when i sweep the floor, not separating my laundry, leaving my laundry in a pile (i dont even own a hamper), letting the dishes pile up, and my personal favourite: just throwing my unsorted, unpaired socks into a drawer and then fishing around for matching pairs as needed. it would seem that my secret spite is really only spiting myself but i am juvenile enough to get my own particular brand of twisted satisfaction out of it.

ADDENDUM: my google image search for "evil socks" came up with the following image.