Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's sock

In college there was a dance teacher named Andy who'd put us through a merciless sit-up routine while making us sing:

"Black socks, they never get dirty; the longer you wear them, the blacker they get...

Someday, I'll probably launder them; something keeps telling me,

Don't do it yet!  Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet..."

A catchy tune, though the sentiment was kind of filthy.  Sometimes I'd tell Andy I had cramps. 

Speaking of dirty laundry...Hubby and I accumulate it at a shockingly rapid pace.  It perpetually seems to be piling up.  I don't envy my homeowner friends and loved ones their abodes.  I do, however, covet their washers and dryers.  You would too, if you lived in my building.  The path to the laundry room is a bit like a fairy tale: "Down the steps, through the door, beyond the courtyard...(down the ominous looking hallway, past the indoor chain link fence containing the sinister water heaters...)

It's a crime scene waiting to happen.  I refuse to go down there alone.  Freshly laundered linen is lovely, but I'm not about to go all Law and Order for it.

And then there's the local laundromat, where a quarter buys you five minutes of dryer time.  I spent $20 there last weekend.  As I unfurled a sheet from the dryer, I noticed a sock had fallen to the floor. 

I removed the matching fitted sheet and suddenly saw a second black sock pop out and fall to the ground, landing between myself and the girl next to me.  Her arms were brimming with a heaping pile of clothes she'd just pulled from the dryer.

This could be potentially awkward.  Gingerly, I picked up the sock, then realized it might look like I was doing something creepy. 

"This sock was stuck inside my sheet," I explained, in a friendly voice.  "Just didn't want you to think I was stealing your laundry!"

Heh heh.

"Oh, is that yours?  I think it may be mine?"  (So we were going to play this game, were we?)

"My socks keep hiding inside my sheets..."  As a momentary solution, I hung the sock up on the laundry cart between us and got back to my folding.  Minutes later, the girl had bundled up her things and reached out for my sock.  "Um, I found the match, so I guess it was mine after all."

Now this was just weird.  I glanced at the sock.  My sock.  The sole said "HUE" on it, and her "match" did not.  They weren't even the same size!  "Oh, do you have socks that say HUE, too?" I asked, "We must have the same ones, then."  (Liar, liar, pants on fire!)  Oh yes, I could see right through her little ruse.

Was this broad actually lying to me over a measly sock?  Should I stand my ground?  Did I really want to cause a scene over one black sock?  I wasn't sure if my inner child could withstand such humiliation.  And then again, what if the sock wasn't mine after all?  My resolve began to waver. 

Who was I kidding, this wretched girl was a sock snatcher.  Was she not?  

A few days later I was rifling through my dresser and pulled out a single sock with the letters HUE on the sole.  I could only find one of them.  That rotten little sock pilferer!  My only comfort is the hope that she will one day realize her blunder and feel very penitent and bad about herself.  Until that glorious day...I continue to pine for a washer and dryer to call my very own.

Maybe Santa will bring me some black socks for Christmas. 

Comments

[Weinerdog]

Seriously?!!! You let her take the sock?!!!!!

[the odd broad]

Well, at the time I couldn't be 100% certain it was mine. Of course, it was mine. I think.

[the odd broad]

Now all my Google ads are about socks. LOL

[Weinerdog]

Ugh.

[the odd broad]

I know, I'm totally ridic.