Last Christmas, my sweet little practical dad asked for socks for Christmas. Socks. <sigh> So I bought his boring old-man black / navy / grey / brown assortment because I am a good and obedient child.
And then I bought him a pair of novelty socks I got on clearance at Target just for grins (thinking he'd never wear them) because I am a terrible child.
Now, understand, my father has an awesome (and dorky) sense of humor. But that in no way translates to his "uniform." I mean, it's only been in the last decade that we got him to wear polo shirts on the weekends instead of a button-down.
Behold: a Christmas miracle! Not only did he wear them, he did so with barely-disguised glee.
So you know what happens next: I bought him crazy socks for Father's Day. 4th of July. His birthday...
I've outdone myself this year with the greatest Christmas gift of all: THE HOLY TACO SOCK. #🌮
Just wrapped these babies up—the last gift to wrap (!)...before I head out west and wrap those things I had shipped out there.
Christmas these days is small—just my parents, me, and our beloved poodle, Max—but it's no less joyous. (And insane. And hectic. And ridiculous. And everything else the holidays are.)
Wherever you are, whatever you choose to celebrate, I wish you all the joy of taco socks. Because taco socks are love. <3