Little White Socks

Is it just me or are these things everywhere, like Captain Kirk’s Tribbles?

If every little white sock that I have picked up in the last 8 years had a nickle in the bottom of it I could have long since bought that 40′ Chris Craft I want and headed off to Trinidad and Tobago. 

At first it was just a minor irritation, but as the years have worn on, I am now convinced that they are responsible for my shattered L7 disc, occasional migraines, and the fall of the dollar.  Sometimes you find them behind the recliner, or under the couch, maybe even stuffed next to the T.V.  That’s normal.  Finding them in the dishwasher, the toilet, or the pantry, lead me to believe that there was something more sinister at work.  

I recently decided to indulge my suspicions.  After doing the normal evening routine of setting the coffee, locking the doors and turning off most of the lights, I ducked behind the couch and kept and eye on one of the larger white socks in the herd.  He’s been around the block; a little thread-bare in the heel, with a few grass stains that won’t come out anymore.  After about 20 minutes, he moved.  Just a little, but he moved for sure.  I held my position.  Then like an inch worm he began to make for the kitchen, pausing occasionally to listen for predators, like a cautious jack rabbit.  He made better time across the smooth tile until he made it to the laundry room where he proceeded to climb the ironing board with all the dexterity of a Navy Seal.  He wasted no time in making his way to the lint trap and pulling the screen out.  That’s when I saw them; 13 white socks of all sizes pouring out of the lint trap.  Not a matching pair among them.  I hit the lights!  They scattered like roaches and dove for cover under the washing machine, the broom closet, any place they could find.  I managed to get a few of them, maybe 4 or 5.  I took them to the boy’s room and opened the drawer, hoping against hope to mate them up with their partner, but it was not to be.  Just another drawer of single mis-matched little white socks.

Now I know their secret.  I am no longer safe here.  I sleep with a loaded bottle of Febreze, safety off.