Sock Scandal

A big scandal has broken out.  There has begun, in the dark corners of PTA meetings, hushed whispers behind my back amongst the mothers who know my youngest son Connor.  Apparently they've been discussing my derelict duties as a mis-fit mother in a certain unforgivable area.  In the polls of public opinion, this unforgivable flaw has brought my approval ratings to an all-time low.  And worse, my son has become a charity case!

But I must clear the air.  Quite literally too.  Because my son's shoes stink.  Which is due to the fact that his feet stink.  Which, according to the scandal of all scandals, is because, allegedly, the poor kid doesn't own any socks.

What kind of mother sends her kids out into the cold cruel world with no socks?
Yep, you guessed it...I do!

The whole thing stinks.  I'm officially confessing that my son  Connor is a Sock Bandit!  He's been swindling mothers everywhere into feeling sorry for him in an evil ploy to come home wearing clean, fresh borrowed socks.  He's even got mothers who volunteer to let him keep the socks, as if by no other means will the poor downtrodden kid get a pair of socks.  And once, the dastardly dude even came home with a brand new package of socks!  A textbook case of sock swindling if you ask me.

The real truth is that the C-man can't keep his socks on.  He absolutely refuses to.  Which means he takes them off and can never find a pair to wear because he can't remember where he took them off and left them.

No matter where he goes, he almost always goes sock-less (though he never fails to return from someones house with a new pair on).  Even at church, all dressed up in a suit and tie, looking all dapper and distinguished, he's still hiding a stinky little secret.  Underneath it all (feel free to peek if you go to my church!) he's got stinky bare feet sweating inside his nice polished shoes!

See this bin of clean socks...

...not a single stinkin' match to be found in it!  NOT ONE.  The darn thing is overflowing with unmatchable socks.  Which is IMPOSSIBLE, since I only buy the same kind of socks for everyone in the house.  How is it that there are perhaps 30 or so possible brands of socks out there in the universe and yet I have a basket full of 80 socks that are completely incompatible?

The pile grows and grows as if they're asexual entities that multiply by themselves.  Bet my biology teacher never knew that about the sock species.

Summer, my blissful friend, has helped to uncover the truth.  While I was out weeding the other day, I discovered where the other half live...

Let's make a game of it, shall we?  Something like "Where's Waldo?" only we'll call this game:

"Where's the Sock-o?"

A little closer in and you can see this cache of socks 

by the trampoline is the mother-lode...

These pesky little vermin are like an infestation that has overtaken my yard--my six acre yard to be exact!  And there's no pest control to call to rid me of these demons.  Though perhaps this is why there are never any deer eating our shrubs.  Stinky Socks must scare them away!

And now I've uncovered the real truth-- that the kid totally mismanages his socks--that leaves me with not only a bad reputation amongst the other mothers, but worse, a basket full of socks I refer to as "Sock Hell".  A place where all the socks unfortunate enough to make it into the laundry cycle get unfairly banished to a bin where they will never see the light of day again or feel the warmth inside Connor's very stinky shoes, all because they got unfairly separated from their comrade.

And while we're on the subject of purgatory, I have a fear one day that if I end up being sentenced, after this mortal life is over, to serve my time in perdition for all my misdeeds, I'm sure the devil will have me matching an endless bin of unmatchable socks while being forced to watch re-runs of the Golden Girls and Touched by an Angel.  Because I certainly can't think of anything worse.

All I can say is that I'm just glad it's flip-flop weather right now.