Generations of men have walked down North Pearl Street during lunch to buy socks at B. Lodge. I joined their ranks this week. Even Garrison Keillor, visiting Albany 20 years ago, hit Lodge’s for a pair of socks. Red of course — and naturally, he talked about it on the radio.
We have a sock crisis in our household. It seems that black socks have been mysteriously vanishing. My guess is that the boys are helping themselves to whatever they can find, declaring the socks communal property. Calling it stealing would be too harsh.
Some cite the old axiom that the washing machine is eating them, but I know better. So I plopped a dozen pairs of black socks on the counter.
The man at Lodge’s has seen it all. He claimed he had this problem once and solved it by getting black socks with a red stripe on them. “My sons wouldn’t take them because they didn’t look cool.”
Maybe I’ll try that. I’m way past worrying about looking cool — and besides, a guy who spends too much time thinking about his socks has bigger issues.