Falling Down

I was at the hospital for an hour or so last Friday, getting the low-down on the state of my lungs based on the most recent scan, and had my weight checked as part of the routine. It was gratifying to find I'd put back nearly all the kgs I lost last September and was back to my fighting weight. I suspected that this might be the case since the problem I'd been dealing with keeping my trousers up in the months following my hospitalisation had been put to rest. It wasn't that they, the trousers I mean, were coming down to my knees, but they kept sagging from my emaciated waist in a manner that felt deeply uncomfortable. Nice to get that sorted.

But, quite independently of the trousers situation, I have to confess that roughly half of the pairs of socks I possess have a way of slipping away from the foot (or feet, rather) which I find equally uncomfortable. These are the older socks which seem to have lost the elasticity that makes them cling, for want of a better word. The thing is, I don't recall being troubled in this way in the past. Are falling socks just a feature of old age? Or was I so full of energy in my earlier years that I was untroubled by scruffy feet?

And another question occurs to me. Why are clothes inherently comical? Well, for me, at least.