We fraking did it. In 365 days, I wore 365 different pairs of socks. 2018 truly has been the Year Of My Socks.
At midnight, as the ball in New York hits, well, whatever the ball hits after it falls at midnight, I’m taking off these socks. I’m taking them off and I might even go sockless tomorrow.
Ok, I’m not going sockless tomorrow. But at 12:01 AM tonight, I am going to take a few moments to ponder the wonder and, um, questionable sense involved with wearing 365 pairs of socks in as many days.
I’ll have a lot more to say about the future tomorrow, but for now, I want to thank you guys from the bottom of my heart and the patches on my heels for bothering to check out my socks every day. If not for you all, and of course the Puddinette’s incalculable dedication in helping me get enough socks to make all this craziness possible, I wouldn’t have made it 30 days.
Happy New Year, kids. You all rock. Now get out there and start getting after it, because 2019 ain’t waiting for no one. Have a great time tonight, hit the ground running tomorrow, and, uh, as always, try not to set the place on fire.