His were first. Handmade in thick, grey wool. They came with cable turns down the ankle and made me envious.
The day I got my own he also got his out for the first time this winter and found them shrunken. They had turned to unforgiving felt from the heat of an inconsistent washing machine, even though we’re always so careful with the temperature dial. We found that they fitted my feet, not his.
Now my new lilac socks, with the perfect ribbed ankle and the supersoft yarn, are missing their mate.