It is wise to pick the recipients of your hand-knitted socks carefully, in my experience once they have one pair, they will never stop asking for another and another and another.
One of my sisters, Megan, was a very early enthusiastic recipient of socks I knitted. The rest of my family joined her over time, one by one they were converted to lovers of the hand knitted, but she really was the first and as a result she owns by far the most pairs. She probably has more pairs of (wearable, not samples) hand knitted socks in her possession than I do.
My name is Megan and I’m the one who doesn’t knit (or sew or crochet or use colouring books).
There are two questions which I get asked repeatedly in my life:
1. Is your hair naturally curly?
2. Where did you get your socks?
The first question is simple to answer (yes), however the question of my sock's origins undoubtedly leads to a long conversation. I normally open with a simple response of "my sister made them", this is never the end. After a short period of disbelief, I normally follow up with "she's a professional knitter", which sometimes helps, although that normally leads to questions about where she sells the socks. To the knitting-illiterate population (including me), "you can't buy the socks, just the patterns” is an odd concept. The discussion is not normally easily resolved without me resorting to the internet to display a webpage where you can buy knitting patterns.
So I go through my life answering questions about my socks, it is however a small price to pay for the privilege of wearing beautiful hand-knitted socks. I love the way they fit your feet in a way that normal socks never can, I love that each pair is individual, I adore the bright colours and matching my socks to my clothes, I love seeing my washing line in summer with a row of knitted socks. In fact the only disadvantage (apart from the long sock conversations), is reserving enough space in my suitcase for all the socks I want to pack.