They're just socks, damnit

On my trip to Boston in January, I bought 2 pairs of Life is Good snuggle socks; I suffer from cold hands and feet, these were on sale, and they felt unbelievably, enticingly soft. I cracked open the blue pair on the unpleasantly turbulent flight back to Heathrow in the hopes that they would soothe both my nerves and my toes (my toes were warm, but I remained a quivering wreck unfortunately). However, the white pair are still sitting in my drawer, untouched -- virgin socks, if you will. Why? I simply cannot bring myself to wear them. At the moment, they are perfect: Pristine, fluffy, dazzlingly white. As soon as I put them on, I will have destroyed that perfection and rendered them just another pair of socks. So, I stroke them gently, heave a sigh of exasperation at my psychological hangups, and pick out a pair of my gently greying Norwich City FC tennis socks instead.