I remember the first time I saw them as if it were two weeks ago, which it was. They were just hanging there, amidst dozens of other pairs. All pairs were positively lovely, but this one – this one was something else. This was no ordinary pair. They were special, different, unique! They caused my heart to pump faster and my breath to catch in my throat. Indeed, it was all I could do to contain my excitement when I reached out to feel their fabric. It was soft. Very soft. The kind of soft that makes you feel like you are walking on a floor full of fluffy little white kittens. The only thing better than their softness was their colour. The greens, the pinks, the yellows...all on a background of brilliant white. ‘Twas almost as if those fluffy little white kittens threw up all over each other. It was beautiful. Yes, I had found the perfect pair of socks.
For the next two weeks I was euphoric. I frolicked to and fro. In my house, around university, to the dumpster and back when I had to take out the garbage. Everything seemed that much more magical because I experienced it in my new socks. Because of all the wearing and washing they soon obtained a couple of holes, like all socks do. “Throw them out.” My mother says, as if they were nothing but clothing to be worn, thrown out, and then replaced. Naturally, I was appalled. I could never replace something that had brought me so much joy. A joyous kind of joy that made one feel...joyful. I got out a sewing kit and much like Father McKenzie I darned my socks in the night when there’s nobody there, because I care. With meticulous attention I had woven the threads together, pouring love and appreciation into every stitch. Lo and behold – they were almost as good as new. Throw them out indeed....!
All was well and good before one day, that fateful day, the day nothing could have prepared me for: the day one of my socks went missing. I remember it like it was yesterday - which it wasn’t, it was two days ago – that I put my socks into the washing machine, which I have done many a times before. Generally, when I put two things into the machine I have grown rather fond of expecting two things to come out. So it goes without saying that I was somewhat baffled when this failed to occur. Two went in, but only one made it out. It was like a nightmare, or worse, a Hollywood horror film from the ‘70s. I must have searched the washing machine a hundred times and still could not locate it. I even checked all of the sock’s usual hiding places - behind the couch, under the bed, stuck on to other clothes – nothing. After days of searching and with the heaviest of hearts I decided to declare the sock gone for good. I know not how to go on; the pain runs too deep. Maybe one day, when the benevolent hands of time sew my wounds like I have sewn my socks, maybe, just maybe, I will be alright. For now, however, the future looks bleak.
Originally posted by Raven69I confess. I stole your sock and sold it on ebay. There's some good money to be made in used socks.
I remember the first time I saw them as if it were two weeks ago, which it was. They were just hanging there, amidst dozens of other pairs. All pairs were positively lovely, but this one – this one was something else. This was no ordinary pair. They were special, different, unique! They caused my heart to pump faster and my breath to catch in my throat. Ind ...[text shortened]... e sewn my socks, maybe, just maybe, I will be alright. For now, however, the future looks bleak.
http://tinyurl.com/yzzely9
Originally posted by trev33It might possibly be something she did with the sock to make holes in it. She seems like she could be a wild young woman at times, we don't know what she may have been frolicking in with her new socks.
but i like jumping to conclusions. where else are we supposed to jump to?
Then we would have to look at detergent and how much she was using, the damage may have been done during the washing process.
It has already been found out that one of the socks were actually stolen. 😲
Originally posted by Raven69And one of my darling and precocious three year old nieces
I remember the first time I saw them as if it were two weeks ago, which it was. They were just hanging there, amidst dozens of other pairs. All pairs were positively lovely, but this one – this one was something else. This was no ordinary pair. They were special, different, unique! They caused my heart to pump faster and my breath to catch in my throat. Ind ...[text shortened]... e sewn my socks, maybe, just maybe, I will be alright. For now, however, the future looks bleak.
nicknamed Scott (her all time most favorite uncle)... 'Sock'.