Sock Stealers

Things have got worse since my stepson used to steal my socks. Now I live with my parents, my Dad steals my socks.

I didn’t realise that this was happening at first. I am not a very tidy person and it seems that almost every item of clothing I own is black. Getting dressed in dim lighting, in what is effectively the middle of the night (although financial needs dictate that it is ‘time to go to work’), it is difficult to pick out a pair of black trousers from the pile of clean laundry, let alone a small item such as a sock.

I had noticed that my supply of black socks was dwindling, but thought that they must all be in the wash. Once I saw that I was down to my last pair, I checked the pile of dirty laundry, but there were none there. It was a mystery. Had they all gone in the wash, and if so why had they not come back? Or were they lurking in the shadowy corners of my bedroom? I needed to tidy the room to find out. After contemplating this task for about a minute, I decided to take a walk. I put on my boots and set off into the bracing cold of a January day. It wasn’t long before the terrible truth began to dawn…My right sock was slipping down from my ankle, working it’s way to the bottom of my foot. I felt the cold leather of my boot against my foot and stopped to unzip it and pull the sock up. Comfortable again, I walked a few more steps but the sock slipped down again. It seemed to have lost all its elastic.

Something had made my sock stretch. . This is when I realised that there are worse things than your 11 year old stepson (with the same size feet as you) stealing your socks, and that would include your 69 year old father (with considerably larger feet and a somewhat unappealing nail infection) stealing your socks.

I am now back to my old tactic of buying pink socks. It failed with my stepson, who likes wearing pink, but I don’t think it will fail with my Dad.