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and she’s willing to
date again. That’s good, right?"
    Dan shrugs.
    "Now I just have to find someone for her to date."
     

 
    CHAPTER 8
     
    I really have to find someone
for her to date.
    Dan likes socks. It doesn’t matter what kind of socks they
are, as long as they are bright, patterned, and clash with everything. Dan gets
up in the mornings and pulls the first two socks out of the drawer—it doesn’t
matter whether they match or not. They usually don’t. I like Dan’s quirks. My
mum obviously doesn’t.
    "I was in town today and I saw something and thought of
Dan," she says when she pops (read: a two hour stay) over one evening.
    Uh oh. I’m glad Dan is in work, because I am fully expecting
her to say that she saw a hippopotamus or something equally mean.
    Instead she produces a Marks and Spencer carrier bag and
hands it to me.
    "You must have noticed those hideous socks he wears,
right?"
    I nod, peering inside the bag nervously. Inside is a
multipack of plain black socks. "You bought him socks?" I ask.
    "Yes, but normal socks. Not those things he wears. They
don’t even match."
    "He likes it that way."
    "Yes, but aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with
him?"
    "No!" I say incredulously. "They’re just
socks."
    "But people notice these things."
    "No, they don’t, Mum."
    "Please, Mackenzie. Why do I have to keep asking you?
It’s Eleanor. The more you use it, the easier it will be to get used to."
    "Fine. Eleanor. Dan likes funky socks so you bought him
some plain black ones, I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t think he’ll
want them. You should return them."
    "Well, you keep them. When you have to go outside the
house with him you can make sure he puts those on so you won’t be
embarrassed."
    "I’m not embarrassed," I say. "Socks are
socks. Nobody walks around the shops looking at what socks other people are
wearing. Except you, maybe."
    "You can tell a lot about someone by their socks."
    "Mine have holes in them, what does that tell
you?"
    "That your toenails are too long and you should cut
them."
    I sigh. She’s probably right on that. But I hand the carrier
bag back to her. "I won't be embarrassed by Dan no matter what he has on
his feet. So thank you for the thought, but please return the socks."
    "I’m just trying to help you."
    "I don’t need your help. I don’t want to try and change
Dan."
    "You should do. He’s not very nice as he is."
    "That’s not for you to decide," I say angrily.
"I’m happy with him, why isn’t that enough for you?"
    "Because he’s not good enough for you."
    "He’s perfect for me. I even like the fact that his
socks look like wallpaper from the sixties and never match."
    "Huh," Mum says.
    "Please return the socks," I say.
    "Fine," she huffs. "I will. But don’t come
crying to me when you need the man to look smart. Don’t come to me when people
point and laugh at him in the street."
    "No one is going to do that. Except you, maybe."
    "Yes, they will. He should take more pride in his
appearance."
    "He takes plenty of pride in his appearance. So what if
he likes funny socks? It’s one of his quirks and I love him for it."
    "You’ve lowered your standards."
    "No, they’re just not the same as your standards. God
help me when I’m finding a date for you if I even have to look at his
socks."
    "You have to think about these things."
    "Any preference as to what pattern he should have on
the soles of his shoes?"
    "No need for sarcasm, young lady."
    "Give it a rest," I say. "And forget about
Dan’s socks. Or anyone else’s for that matter. They’re just socks."
     
    "I bought something for you," Mum announces as she
comes in the next night.
    "For me?" I ask.
    "No, for him."
    Dan looks up. "Me? Why?"
    "I thought you needed one. And I went to exchange the
socks today, and I thought why not?"
    She hands him a carrier bag and Dan opens it nervously.
    "Oh," he says, looking at me with a look akin to
horror on his face. "That’s… nice?"
    "What is it?"
    He