I thought I had been hearing a murmur from the direction of my wardrobe for quite some time. I was imagining things I told myself. Yet, I would tiptoe to the wardrobe and suddenly yank it open… to hear nothing but silence. I felt quite foolish. Until today.
In unison
The moment I opened the drawer where my socks were kept, I recoiled in horror. The socks were alive, heaving and writhing like they were possessed. This can't be happening!
They began to wheeze and splutter angrily. Lest the other habitants of the wardrobe witness this nightmarish sight, I slid the drawer out with alacrity and took it away to another room. My eyeballs popped as two tartans rose from their midst uncoiling like two hooded cobras.
You people have really lost your *#@ marbles, they hissed! We hear that you sponsored a World Handwashing Day recently. A world handwashing day, we ask you. What's wrong with you humans? Why not a world footwashing day then?
Do you know how your feet smell at the end of the day? We've seen you wrinkle your nose when you take off your shoes. Do you have any idea how we feel jammed between leather and your callused skin and being suffocated? Do you know what a great view we enjoy?
But the World Footwashing Day can wait. What we demand is a World Socks Day. When the world will wake up to our plight.
When is the last time you seriously noticed us? Do you know that we proud tartans have never ever seen duty? What are you waiting for? For the day you plan to wear a kilt and kick up your heels in a Scottish dance? And look at our lodgings. Oink oink we say!
There were times when we would each be lovingly rolled up and assigned a comfortable nook. These days we are just jumbled together like strange bedfellows. Or tied together like chickens. You treat us aristocracy just as you would those thick slovenly cotton cousins.
And don't you dare talk to us about democracy. You keep your footwear in a pecking order, don't you?
Even those oh-so-snooty Italian shoes. When those ingrates pinch, you just grin and bear it, saying oh those Italians. Imagine the torture that we go through. It's certainly not dolce vita for us.
We've heard from our forefathers that when their bodies gave way through yeoman service, they would be lovingly darned and made whole again. These days we are thrown out with the garbage. I wish there was a Lord of the Socks that we could appeal to.
You're also colour blind most of the time. We are often worn as a pair even though one of us has a self pattern while the other is plain, just because we have the same colour!!! Wake up! Or as Holmes would have said, “You just see. You do not observe.”
When some of us begin to lose our grip do you support us? No. We just collapse in an untidy heap over your shoes, exposing a generous expanse of unsightly skin No wonder they don't feature you in GQ.
Legend has it that in the days gone by, elastic bands used to keep us firmly and proudly in place. Ironic isn't it, that when you talk about conservation and recycling, we are totally ignored. You're such a hypocrite.
Must do's
How often do you clip your overgrown toenails? Only when they are jammed against the leather, right? Only when they start paining you. How about us? Do you know how much it hurts when your nails project like little scimitars, stretching and tearing at our tender skin? Then there are those toes with razor sharp edges that could cut steel. It's great if you're Bruce Lee.
So please use some pumice stone, please! Or go for a pedicure.
One fine day we wake up to realise that one of a pair of twins is missing. Oh where could he have gone? Did he die an agonising death in the washing machine? Did an errant wind or bird snatch him from our midst?
We see you picking up the lone survivor and keeping him aside in the selfish hope of finding his partner some day. Poor orphan. His days are numbered.
If I were to be reborn in the sock family (exclaimed the more assertive tartan) I'd rather be born a stocking… a tartan Xmas stocking to be filled with goodies. No wear, no tear. No smelly feet. No more the downtrodden. No need for a twin either.
Santa, are you listening?
