One thing you should know about me is the that I rarely match my socks.

The combinations are many and varied: A bright pink sock on one foot and a black-and-white striped one on the other. A sock with a Pikachu on one foot and one with flowers on the other. There is no discrimination. My hand reaches into my drawer and whichever two socks find my hand first are the ones that I wear.

There is one exception to that rule though. My cowboy socks.

They reside in the back corner of my drawer, neatly matched and safely tucked away while they wait for their day to arrive.

Because, the thing is, I only wear the cowboy socks on days of high stress and emotional turmoil. The last time I wore them was the day after my parents dropped me off at college.

I have had many other stressful or emotional days since, but none of them have been intense enough to warrant a wearing of the cowboy socks; I’m afraid their power will lessen should I wear them too much.

There’s just something about the knowledge of little cowboys and cacti on your feet that is enough to get you through the day. Things will be looking grim, but then I can pull up the cuff of my pants leg and imagine a little cowboy saying “giddy up, partner!” and everything somehow seems like it will turn out alright.