There once was a man from a far away place. Some rumours have it he descended from space. A strange looking creature one might observe. Riding his red and white toadstool that’s powered by lurve.
Indeed, an eccentric young Martian of colourful dress. A purple top hat on his head and on his feet socks to impress. Odd socks! Can you believe it? No? Neither could I. But it’s true, ’tis what he wore, and what a suave looking guy.
But now for the bad news, a thorn in the foot. Like a present from the Grinch, a bag full of soot. Alas! to our ecosphere, his fine socks weren’t accustomed. By and by, holes developed, putrid, unravelled, a little bit crusted. So shopping he went to find a new pair. Although the bad news continues as all he found was despair. He picked up some socks and looked at the tag. Eyes bulging, lips coiled, he huffed “Twenty-two dollars! Not for this scallywag.”
And so on a manic whim, he started a business called the Odd Sock. Lo, now he weaves unique patterns that make your feet pop.
Selling socks, however, is not his only aim. There is something a little different that sparks his inner-flame. That thing, spreading the good word, and that good word is this: Everything’s a little odd beneath the surface. Embrace it. Adore it! For in oddness, uniqueness, in these you’ll find bliss.