So I was telling Joephet today about ankles, and how I am particular about them, how I like a nice, well-defined ankle that shows plenty of Achille's tendon and maybe a few strong veins around the ankle proper, not some ludicrous skateboarder tree trunk that has no transition between calf and foot. And on the walk home I was remembering why... In my youth, socks were a troublesome article of clothing: being raised in a family of "cheap Chinese bastards" as Joephet woudl put it, where our socks would long outlive their elastics (being cheaply made in the first place, and of course these socks were the long-sock variety, of course, which means that they often had to be scrunched down in the first place), so that at times we actually wore rubber bands from scallion bunches and then turned the tops of the socks over so as to conceal our thrift, our shame. In sixth grade I was discovered in the act, as it were, and it was rather embarassing, as I was wearing a pair of shorts that were homemade, out of the same cloth that my pillowcase still is, to this day... In any case, I coveted the sorts of short-short crew socks that only came up on the foot, showing plenty of naked ankle, and at the mall on weekends would ogle cute white boys and their ankles and short socks and calves and shorts. So yeah.. hence my ankle fetish.. wanting to be white: indeed, that was the dream when I grew up--wear short socks and shorts and go to the arcade and actually fucking play instead of watch. Jeez.