Lost Sock Day?
I heard on the morning news that today is Lost Sock day.
Excuse me—they’re not lost. I know exactly where my human’s dirty socks end up after I’m done flipping them around. It’s not my fault she doesn’t crawl under the table/ottoman/sofa/bed to find the strays that bounce.
I mean, she knows the nightly ritual. She must take the sock off so it ends up in a ball then toss it in the air so I can catch it. I’m good with the jumps, and the only time I don’t get the sock is when she messes up the toss. If she forgets and puts the sock down, I will get it and put it in her lap until she remembers. She has one job when it comes to socks. How hard can it be to remember the rule?
She’s tried to teach me “find the sock,” but I don’t play that game. It doesn’t involve the jumps.
So, in my house, socks aren’t lost. They’re evidence my human doesn’t play the dirty sock game right.