Socks

I started wearing socks when I was twenty-three. I was crashing on a friend’s couch and that’s what she was doing. I went to Kmart and spent a half hour picking socks.

I got my own apartment a year later. I vacuumed biweekly and studied design blogs.

I vacuumed extra if I was having guests over. My friend Rosa dumped her backpack and began apologizing.

“I’m so sweaty. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” I said.

I hadn’t remembered to put socks on. My big toenails were three layers of yellow.

Rosa walked past me to the couch. “I’d hug you, but I’m so gross.”

“You’re not.”

She fanned herself, not having heard me.