SPCS

The last few weeks its been tough to find a pair of socks. The only socks left in my sock drawer are the very thick and very small - none of my first team socks were to be found. So I took a deep breath and entered the laundry room. It took a few moments to swallow my nausea during which I scoped the place. With shock I realized we have a sock concentration camp going on right under here our own roof. There were bags of socks, baskets of socks, painfully thin socks blankly staring out of their bunks, all single and all crying for help. Like the U.S. armies liberating Dachau, we swept in and herded all the socks to safely. Like the Red Cross we spent hours nurturing them back to health. Like the Displaced Peoples Administration we paired them up and rebuild broken families. It felt great.

NOTE: The "we"s above refer to my loving daughter and I. I initially made an extreme error by using "I". Never fear, I was quickly reminded of the truth. I beg forgiveness.

I sent my people out to find the architects of this heinous crime. When all the facts were in, the irrefutable evidence from the forensic lab at the Jeffersonian pointed to none other than My Wife. Who would have thought that under that beautiful, kind, smiling exterior lurked a dark secret. When put on the stand and asked to confront her crimes, she calmly responded "I am indifferent to socks, I find them uninteresting". What did I expect, bloodshot eyes and fangs??

So I am starting the SPCS - The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Socks. Please people, socks are clothes too, give them the respect they deserve. They quietly do their job protecting your feet from the dangerous, cold world outside, and ask nothing more than a partner and a warm drawer.