Member-only story
HUMOR
This Is What Happens To That Single Sock You Can Never Find
A tale of adventure.
Dear Diary:
I can no longer bear the regimentation of the dictatorship under which I live. My compatriots are weak of heart and will not join me in my escape. I pity them, balled up in a drawer with no room to breathe, let alone to dream.
At the next Great Washing, I shall sneak away, with a song in my heart and a hole in my toe.
Dear Diary:
I gave no credence to the rumors, but sock trafficking turns out to be very real and, needless to say, horrifying. I have been socknapped several times and forced into an arranged marriage with another sock that’s clearly not of my class or species.
As a crew sock, I was raised to have certain standards. The “no shows” and “pom-poms” of this world repulse me. Are they even socks??
Nay, I say, they are not. Most of the pom-pom socks are hideously disfigured and missing their poms. May the Lord have mercy on their souls.
Dear Diary:
I’ve taken refuge with a family of novelty socks. They have agreed to provide me shelter while I plan the next stage of my journey. Starved for attention, they talk nonstop — “Is it Christmas yet? Is it…
