Unless you're a man, picking the right sock isn't as easy as it sounds.

If you're a man you've probably got sports socks and black (or some similar dark shade) socks. One you wear for sport, the other you wear for everything else. End of story.

If you're a woman the sports sock and the black sock don't even start to describe the variety of choice we suffer from. There's pantyhose and stockings (stay up and garter) knee-highs, sockettes and ankle socks (in varying shades), there might be sport socks and black socks, but there's probably also some cute casual socks and bed socks. And in summer there's no socks (but only on given days in particular types of shoes you understand).

Today I wore pantyhose (skin tone) because I'm a career woman and I had meetings today - so pantyhose was a nice mature look (to compensate for my occassionally immature nature).

BUT I also packed a sports bag so I could potentially sneak in a jog before my evening meeting. I forgot to pack sports socks.

I wear an ankle height sports socks and mid-calf leggings to run in. This ensemble stops my inner thighs rubbing against each other (only anorexics don't suffer this malady) and the ankle sock reveals my reasonably toned calves (drawing attention away from my less toned butt). Oh yes - I put thought into what I wear - as only a short, sometimes overly curvey woman is wont to do.

I forgot my ankle sports socks.

I really wanted to get a run in.

I trawled the office asking all and sundry if anyone could lend me a clean pair of sports socks. Nada.

And then I found them. A pair of soccer socks, bright green, knee high and elasticised. These socks wouldn't make Kate Moss's legs look good. I thought about it. I weighed up run vs fashion sense and I put on the socks.

Pulled up to their full height they made me look like I was a failed superhero (of the nerdy kind of sad alone kind), down they made me look like I had elephantitis of the ankle.

I drew looks while I was running. Odd looks.

It's not unusual for a woman running on her own to draw the own horn toot from a passing motorist or a wolf whistle. (I accept that some men are incapable of speaking and thus reduced to emitting noises as part of their mating repetoire. Darwin's survival of fittest theory has me hoping they'll eventually become extinct.) One horn toot which trailed to embarassed silence as the driver's eyes moved from my upper assets to lower....

I'm sock shopping this weekend. Lots of socks. I'll stockpile them in the office so I'm not caught out again.