Michael’s almost nine, and now he has opinions about what he wears, though like his parents he opts for comfort over style every time. Yesterday, he was putting on shoes and socks for a walk.

“I only want the dickless ones from now on.”

Surely, surely we had misheard. But no, there it was again.

“The dickless ones are my favorite.”

“Um, your favorite what, buddy?”

“Socks. The dickless kind. Dick-less,” he repeated firmly.

I was stumped. He obviously didn’t think he was saying anything noteworthy. Just a little small talk. Nice evening, pleasant weather for a walk, love those dickless socks.

I will spare you the ensuing ten-minute convo, in which the word “dickless” was carefully enunciated numerous times for my benefit, since I was obviously losing my hearing in my old age.

“You wear them, too! Don’t you remember when you gave me the dickless socks? Like these?” he said finally.

Ah! Yes. Yes, I do. They are nice socks. From DICKIES. Dickies, like the pants. The name is on the toe, so yeah, I guess the difference between i and l is less than obvious, printed on fuzz as it is.

So that’s our endorsement. When you buy socks, now you know which ones you want. Don’t settle for less.