My husband gave me these stockings for my birthday from a bizarrely wonderous online-store-cum-blog called Sock Dreams. They seem very, very thrilled by the whole notion of socks, by the sheer sockliness of socks, by the whole socks gestalt. If you have ever despaired while gazing into the sameness that is your sock drawer, clicking on that link will make you very happy.
Anyway, their socks are, as advertised, totally dreamy. My socks are considerably more subdued than those worn by this fine lady in the picture; mine look more like what a wartime housewife would knit herself if forced to unravel old wool blankets before taking up a little light prostitution. Discarded on the floor, they look a little like vacuum cleaner hoses. But that's why I love them.
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