Dear New Sock

Dear New Sock,

I am sorry that you were only worn once before losing your mate somewhere. I am sorry that you are now paired with a sock that, at best, has seen its better days. But keep in mind that its mate was too hole-y to keep on keeping on, and has been drowned in furniture polish. It is now a lemon scented dust rag of its former self. Your new partner understands loss, Lefty will help you through.

But think of it this way, you are a younger and shapelier version of your new found friend. While Lefty is a little wiser and better traveled than you are, you can still hold your elastic no matter what. You will not be found cowering in the toes of my kicks. For this, I thank you.

Please know that better days are ahead. I am sure that Lefty will not be around forever looking like the non-bleached sock in one of those commercials. It is only a matter of time before he is lost under the bed or turned into a polishing rag himself. At which time, you will either be reunited with your first mate (a happy reunion) or mated with a newer version of yourself. At which time, you will be all of the things that you didn’t care for about Lefty.

You will be the older, better traveled, slightly thread bear partner of this new duo. You will long for the days that the giant talking fruit sung your praises. You will tell stories of your days as the newer sock. You will reminisce about the days when you held up your cuff better than anyone you were paired with. And the new newer sock will roll his cuff at you in the same way you do to Lefty now.

So keep this in mind New Sock, you will be in Lefty’s shoes one day. Though you are newer and wiser than an old sock now, you will one day be the one on the other foot. And when that happens, you will know that you did your best to stay warm and dry, and you will have the good scents to know that Lefty may have known something after all.

Good luck on your journeys New Sock, take the road less traveled, always wear good shoes, and stay off the coffee table.

Sincerely,

Me

Who Are You?

We all know that kid who comes to a party or gathering or just wanders into a conversation and has absolutely nothing to offer in the way of valuable input. This is also, generally, the same person that has an outlandish story that needs characters you have never met in order to make the story work. These characters are generally introduced as “my buddy” or “You know Cory’s uncle?* Oh. Well it is his second cousin.” Likewise, this is someone that you are never going to meet and they certainly are not going to be available for clarification at the time of the story’s telling. Meanwhile, the story teller goes on telling their tall-tale as though the connection that they attempted to make has been made and you are on board with everything that they are saying.

Somewhere, between “It was so cool” and “Then he was like *insert ridiculous sound effect*” you begin to scan the crowd to figure out who this guy is with and why he is now bothering you to no end. Who are you? Also, what the hell does his mud-bogging story have to do with my conversation about car insurance premiums? Yes, my conversations are usually more interesting than car insurance, but you know as well as I do that when you are with your close friends a good conversation can be about extremely mundane things. No matter how you try to deter the story teller there is no use. Onward he will yammer about everything and nothing. Then it happens. You realize that the group that you were talking with begins to dwindle. They make their strategic steps backward or they get invisible, inaudible notices from no one that they are needed and all of the hold-on-a-minutes you can muster leave you standing alone with the talker. After a deep breath and a more steadied stance you settle into the story hoping that soon it will be over. Who are you? However, the talker trudges on now with hand movements and more sound effects never noticing the dead look in your eyes and complete lack of interest. Shit.

All you really want is a way out as one story fades into another. You are beginning to feel like a bobble head because you have been lackadaisically nodding your head for so long. Who are you? You can see your friends outside this personal hell laughing and smiling. They are drinking and enjoying the conversations that they are in. What is that like? It has been so long since you enjoyed a conversation you can’t even remember it, but you are sure that it had nothing to do with Marlin fishing on the Great Lakes. Especially since there IS NOT Marlin fishing on the Great Lakes.  All the while you are ready to go on a killing rampage. You begin to wonder how you could stop the bullshit from spewing so haphazardly from the story teller’s mouth. Would it be wrong to punch him square in the mouth and then walk away as though you never noticed? There must be something, anything, that will remove you from this guy’s line of fire. Then it happens. Your beer is empty. You can excuse yourself to the cooler.

“Hey I’m going to go grab a beer. Can you just stay here a minute?” And without missing a beat or even taking a breath, “Me too. I’ll go with you. So anyway then we were…” SON OF A BITCH!! Who is this guy?! Of course he is going to go with you. He has ran his mouth for forty-five minutes he is probably more parched than the Sahara.

So that is what he does. Fortunately, he can talk and walk at the same time because you just wouldn’t be able to handle a moments silence as you slink in and out of other groupings of people. You notice the look of pity on your friends’ faces, and you swear that one of them mouthed “hang in there.” Why will the chatter never end? And then it happens, just as his buddy begins to ride a horse down main street, your friend (a real person, possibly the only person that you invited that truly loves you) says, “I have been looking for you all over. I need you in the kitchen. Can you come take a look?” You scamper up the stairs and onto the deck leaving whats-his-face in your dust. You are so overjoyed that you have found the escape hatch that when the door slams behind you, you have to take a few deep breaths to make sure that it is all real. You have escaped. I bet that is how inmates feel after 20 years in prison digging out with a  tooth pick and a spoon. Free.

Thankfully, there is really nothing to see in the house, but this does give you the opportunity to ask who it was that you were talking to. So a group of you will eventually gather around the window where you can see him but can’t be seen and speculate about who this guy is, where he came from, and most importantly when he is leaving. It is about this time that you notice that he is moving toward the house. Why? Why would he do that? Where are you going to go? The bathroom? No,  
too many people lined up. The bedroom? Yeah, the bedroom. You could play sick for a minute. And then as you are about to make another grand escape there he is standing directly in front of you with outstretched arms. You return an awkward side hug and fake some nicety and a “we’ll see you next time” to appease him. Even though inside you are doing the Snoopy dance because you no longer have to dodge him. Once he is out the door. You ask one more time, “Who is that guy?” This time you are in the proximity of someone that has an answer (not a good one, but an answer none the less), “That is Cory’s uncle’s friend.” Of course it is. Why didn’t I think of that?

* What I should have said: “No, I don’t know Cory’s uncle. Who the fuck is Cory, and how would I know his uncle?”