On Socks and Hot Chocolate.

We had our first snow here in Provo this week. And I'd like to tell you of the joy my socks give me.

Last Saturday, in anticipation for the snow, Shannon and I went shoe shopping... I got winter boots, sneakers, and two pairs of church shoes that seemed like they'd survive snow and ice. We were almost going to go to the checkout line when...

"Oh no! All these shoes are black! I need black socks, then!" So Shannon and I went to get some socks. I wanted some nice, warm socks that make my feet happy in the deep of winter. However... it seems it is not common practice to make women's socks practical. Just cute. Who needs warm, cozy socks when you can have cute ones? Psh. It seems to be true of all clothing actually... women's clothing is lacking in the practical department, whereas men's clothing is pretty much just that. Practical, and little else. Where else do you find adorable little jackets that LOOK like they've got pockets, but upon inspection, you find that in fact, there are no pockets. The jacket was just made to look that way in the name of fashion.

You can even see this trend in WHERE you find socks. Women's socks are next to the hats and purses and belts and scarves. Women's socks are accessories. However, do you know where most department stores place mansocks? Next to the underwear. You see, socks are not accessories for men. They are a necessity. Why this difference? I don't know. And I don't understand it. I'm a girl. I get cold feet. Why can't I have thick, practical socks? Socks are not an accessory, ladies. Socks are a necessity, regardless of your gender. Especially if the snow is coming.

So... it is for this reason that Shannon and I made our way to find the mens' socks. Although I have rather small feet for a girl of my height, I've found that if I find the smallest mansocks I can, they are only slightly too big. And I can SO deal with only slightly too big! I found a pack of thick, black socks, and happily threw them in the cart. We got a couple of strange and uneasy looks from the men we ran into whilst gallavanting through the mansock section of Target... after all, we were awfully close to the men's underwear section.

I have always imagined what it will be like when I have free access to some guy's socks. I can just see it now. Newly married, my husband starts noticing that his sock supply has strangely been disappearing twice as fast as it did before he was married. And he will think that this is odd, and perhaps he is just imagining things. But then, one day, he'll look down at his wife's feet -- my feet -- and suddenly he will exclaim something along these lines... "THOSE ARE MY SOCKS!" And I will cackle, affirming his suspicions, and then refuse to give them back. I figure that if I warn him before I marry him that I will be stealing his socks -- and he still marries me -- I will be able to say that he knew before we got married that I would be stealing his socks. And it's his own darn fault if he didn't believe me when I told him so.

And it really is a very good thing that the BYU Honor Code forbids me from going into guys' bedrooms. Otherwise all my guyfriends last year would have noticed a slow and steady depletion of their sock supply during the winter months. I mean, what good is a little brother, if you can't steal his socks? Ah well. Clifton's feet were far bigger than mine anyway. I imagine that I could have fit two of my feet into a single one of his socks.

Anyway, besides socks, another necessity for winter survival is this wonderful thing called hot chocolate. I have a collection. Or, rather I did. Last week I had thirteen or fourteen different flavors. Off the top of my head, these are the ones I remember: milk chocolate, milk chocolate marshmallow, Belgian dark chocolate, mint chocolate truffle, mint chocolate marshmallow, chocolate cinnamon, Italian amaretto, French vanilla, dulce de leche, chocolate raspberry, orange creme, candycane, and roasted hazelnut. 'Twas amazing. The entire top shelf of my pantry is devoted to my hot chocolate collection.

Last Sunday night, when I walked into my apartment having just come home from work, I was met with a few of the following comments: "Jenna! I'm SO sorry!" "Hi... how much do you love us?" and "Uh... we have some bad news for you..."

I inspected their guilty faces plastered with guilty smiles and I knew.

"What happened to the chocolate?"

That was met with an uneasy (or hysterical, depending on the roommate in question) laugh. "Darn, you're good," commented Ron, my roommate Aubrey's boyfriend. I rushed over to the cupboards and looked up at my precious stash of hot chocolate should have been. I had left thirteen varieties. I saw a measly five where those thirteen used to be. When I opened the canisters, I found that most of the powder in the remaining cans was gone.

"Uhh... well, we were in charge of Linger Longer, and we didn't have anything else to feed the masses," commented one of my roomies. I understood. After ward prayer, the entire ward comes over to an apartment... which is supposed to provide some sort of treat for everyone. My roommates told the tale of the hot chocolate brigade. They had brought out the collection, and had lots of hot water ready. And the mugs? We only had about twenty or so, so they had a mugwashing team ready. And they'd crank out clean mugs and hot water, and then the ward members would mix their own pick of hot chocolate flavor from my collection. And they described to me how happy it made everyone. I didn't doubt it. It was so cold outside. My roommates described how popular our little 366 Red Brick apartment was -- people were packed like sardines in our teeny little kitchen and packed like packing peanuts in the living room. [I heard from outside sources how happy everyone was, so I think it wasn't just my roommates exaggerating to save themselves.]

It simultaneously made so happy and so sad.

So happy... because my hot choclate collection had served its purpose. It brought joy to people. That's what I wanted it for. I mean, people would come over, and I'd glowingly show them all the hot chocolate. And then tell them that they could have some whenever they wanted. No one ever took me up on that promise, except for tonight. When I wasn't there. Which was why I was so sad. I had been at work. I didn't get to see anyone smile. I didn't get to hear anyone's glee. I didn't get to see any cold people be warmed from something I gave. And because I had work every Sunday night, and I was so busy during the week, no one really knew who Jenna Griffin was. Nobody knew it was my collection, no one knew that I was the hero of the night. And I felt as invisible as ever.

My roommates have promised to replace all the hot chocolate that they gave away. So, I will soon have another quite formidable hot choclate collection. I suppose that once it is completely replenished, then I can have another hot choclate party... and I suppose that time I will be there, and I can see all the happy people.