I used to steal my dad's socks when I was younger. It wasn't because I didn't have a wide variety to choose from, it was because I loved how big they were. My father is notorious for wearing knee high socks, so considering that he is 6 feet 3 inches tall, they went well over my knees when I was a little girl. I also enjoyed getting a rise out of him when we'd be sitting in the living room watching TV and he would notice the familiar yellow toes poking out from underneath my jeans. I'll admit, I was "grounded" once or twice for sneaking into his sock drawer because I just loved those socks.
When I moved away to college, I took four pairs with me. The man buys a new pack of socks at least once a month, there was no way he was going to miss these. They've made it through every single move with me throughout college and even now to my new home in Virginia. The socks that once consumed my little chicken legs now fall right below my knee, just like my father. To this day, I still get a little smirk when I put on the socks, thinking to myself "if he only knew..."
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