JJ, Benny and I are bopping along on our usual morning walk. We’re staying close in the neighborhood, just down the hill from our home. Benny stops to sniff and I spot something white on the parking strip. Leaning over for closer inspection, I find one white sock nestled in a black sock. I’m bewildered. How do you leave two mismatched socks outside, in the grass?
Wanda the white sock and Freddie, the black sock, are in love. They long to be together, next to each other. But you hate mismatched socks and you’re never going to wear one white and one black sock together. Let alone leave them near each other in your sock drawer, whites go on the left and blacks on the right. It’s not going to change. Desperate and both in the laundry basket, Wanda and Freddie sneak out the front door. But socks need feet so Wanda and Freddie don’t get very far, just to the parking strip at the end of the drive. Freddie curls around Wanda to protect her and they lay contently together.
You don’t notice Wanda and Freddie are missing until its laundry day. You dump the nicely warm and dry laundry on your bed to fold. You discover one white sock and one black sock. You ask where their mates are. They’re mute, not wanting to squeal on Wanda and Freddie.
Glancing out the window, you notice the neighbor’s dog, Homer, sniffing at something white on your parking strip. He then pisses on it. Curious as to what Homer is pissing on now, you walk out to the grass near your drive. Wanda and Freddie are damp, cold and smelly but happy, still nestled together. You’re perplexed. How did two socks walk out of your house? You don’t feel like cleaning Wanda and Freddie up so into the garbage they go. Wanda and Freddie fall together, still entwined into the garbage can, very happy socks indeed.