Every time I put on a pair of socks lately there seems to be a hole in one of them. It started about a year ago, and the problem persists. Whether a white crew sock or a black dress sock, it matters not. The holes suddenly appear, glaringly and uncomfortably present. They make themselves known early in the workday as I go about my routine; I worry that my big toe will have gas gangrene from a lack of blood supply as the sock constricts around it like a tiny cotton blend anaconda. I asked my sweet baboo if we had a moth problem, at which time she looked at me as if I was accusing her of gross household negligence and public drunkenness. No moths. Got it.
This afternoon I looked at my fifteen-year-old son's feet. They are huge. I asked sweet baboo what size shoe he wears; "10 and a half", she said as she strained the tortellini. Wow. Them's big feet. I wondered if his socks had holes like mine. When I asked him he looked at me funny, like he does sometimes when he thinks that I must have fallen on my head from a significant distance as a child. "Yeah, they do, Dad." He kicked off his sneakers that sweet baboo had refranined from reporting the cost of when he was sure he had a future as a cross country runner and needed JUST THE RIGHT SHOE.
He was wearing my socks.
That explains alot. My children, despite groundations lasting several weeks if not years, still have the nasty habit of running about outside in their socks. Honorable son number one is the worst offender. It is no wonder one get's holes in ones socks when the fruit of one's loins insist on running around the neighborhood in one's socks.
Oh well. I have determined this a battle I cannot win. There are others, and their feet are growing. I might as well accept the fate doled out on my socks. Man, when did his feet get so BIG?? He is growing so fast. It really makes me feel proud. Not that he's wearing my socks; that just irritates me. What makes me proud is that he is growing into a man. I have prayed for so many years that my kids would grow into good, holy adults. It's happening right before my eyes, and it took holes in my socks to see it.
Now why is my new "Fusion" shaver sitting on the side of the tub (you know, the one with the razor cartridges that cost six gazillion bucks for four?)? Maybe I'll ask the sixteen year old daughter...