My cranium is adorned by an emerald sock.
My dome is covered by a viridescent skullcap.
My head wears a green beanie.
It’s warm.
As you can imagine.
Well I hope you can imagine; life would be terribly boring otherwise.
Knitted just so, my woollen green compadre hugs itself tightly around my oddly shaped noggin. Weird bone bumps. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s all fine.
Forgotten about for 8 months of the year, items of winter clothing slip through inter-dimensional rifts for their holiday away. Why spend the summer season as a scrunched up ball at the back of some cupboard? No reason, no rhythm. And we all know there is reason to everything. Thus, the scarves and beanies and gloves and woollen socks and thermal undies and slippers and double lined jumpers exit stage left on the first of Spring.
(Well probably not the first of Spring, it’s still a bit nippy around then and people are still in the habit of wearing longs. But definitely by the middle of Spring, no later.)
Through the numerous inter-dimensional portals that appear in the unseen depths of peoples’ cupboards, one can find a world full of tropical beach resorts (well, when I say one, I mean winter clothes. Only they can enter. Strict bouncers you see). Winter clothes deserve all the TLC they get during those eight months of the year. Can you imagine wrapping your naked body around the naked body of someone else to protect them from the weather? Neither can I. Clothes can though, and those four months of the year haunt them.
One wonders what compels the clothes to return at all. Missing the start of winter and just staying in paradise sounds like it would be the way to go. Mostly it is said that if humans were to discover the world of infinite tropical resorts (because of the global disappearance of winter wear), they would take over and force all the winter clothes to live on regular crummy Earth in their place.
Still, some socks are willing to risk it. Unfortunately for people, socks never come to their decisions about going or staying as a united pair. Always at odds with one another, odd socks break up their own pairs.