We all have those sock mysteries: the ones where you put complete pairs in the washing machine, but by the time you fold them up to go back in your drawer, there are odd ones. usually at least two (and if you’re like me, you can’t pair up those two odd socks because it would make your feet feel funny and your teeth itch, so instead you just have a ‘looking for my other half’ section in your sock drawer, a bit like an unsuccessful dating service). I consider this particularly mysterious at Pog towers as there is only one of me; nobody can be snaffling them (unless, of course, Norman Cat is using them as tail warmers. Come to think of it, that is entirely possible…). I had a weird one this week though. I came home on Monday from a walk with the family and found an odd sock. On my front door step…
This was a first for me. It was my front doorstep though, so it had to be my sock, didn’t it? I smelt it (clean) and picked it up. While opening the door, I thought about how on earth it could have got there (other than with a bit of help from Norman) and decided it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that it could have got caught in my jumper in the wash and fallen out of a sleeve or something as I left the house. By the time I got inside though, I had a horrible thought. My neighbours were leaving to go on holiday when I had left earlier. I’m not keen on my neighbours. They are very shouty when I am trying to go to bed, and don’t understand, however often I ask them to turn their bass down that their music is played too loud for a terraced house and the resulting vibrating walls is starting to drive me mad. I have tried to like them, but among other things, they don’t have many redeeming features. Maybe it was one of their socks? They could have dropped it in the chaos of packing or a small child could have picked it up and dropped it outside – they do that a lot with their scooters / rubbish / anything they fancy that I could fall over when I leave for work in the dark. I dropped the sock in panic, just inside my door. Anyone’s socks make me feel a bit icky. If it was one of theirs it could bring on actual throwing up.
And there the sock had remained for four days. I don’t know if I should throw it away or wash it. It has now taken on two personalities. Some days it looks sad, wondering why I have given up on it, after it had only tried to keep one of my feet warm. Other days it is evil, knowing there is a chance I will take it into my washing machine, clean it and then wear it – despite it really being part of someone I am not terribly keen on, to say the least.
Once again, I think I may be over thinking things. But I think someone else it going to have to make the decision for me about what on earth I should do with it. Clearly, I need a weekend so I can switch off my brain. Thank goodness it’s Friday :o)