Friday, May 9, 2014

My Socks are Dysfunctional

I have a pair of socks that are dysfunctional. I mean, they do their job when they're on my feet, it's just what happens in the time between wearing them that makes me question their behavior.

Since I've owned them, they have refused to remain happily paired. They separate from each other nearly every time I launder them. I don't mean that they momentarily detach, only to be found later while folding clothes. I mean that they put distance between them. Like, one is in freshly laundered and the other is still in the clothes hamper, or wadded up somewhere in my gym bag, locker, etc.

It's uncanny. My other socks aren't like these two.

Born 18 months apart, my older brother Matt and I are practically Irish Twins. When we were young, we were like those socks. Mostly, we couldn't stand to be near each other. When we were together, we fought. For about 10 years, we were in a constant state of war. There were no truces, no peace treaties, nor any amnesties.

When we fought, Matt easily got the upper hand because he had about 40 pounds on me. He'd proceed to pin me down and sit on my chest. Then he'd taunt me while slapping my face, picking my nose, and giving me wet willies in my ears. After all that, he'd dangle snot bombs over me. Inevitably, one of his goobers would snap. That's when I'd go berserk. Adrenalin coursing through my veins, I'd power-lift him off of me before unloading a torrent of bare-knuckle punches towards his face. At that point, our Mom would rush in and break things up. That usually meant calling for our Dad to step in.

Dad was once an advocate of  "spare the rod, spoil the child" discipline. As a result, we were spanked when we misbehaved. Later on, he became more creative with meting out punishments. For example, we'd have to pick a grocery bag full of weeds from the yard. On other occasions, we hand-picked the carpet as "human vacuum sweepers." But his favorite correction was to have us stand in the middle of the living room and hug each other for ten minutes. Now pay attention, because here's where it gets good: he'd tell us to hug each other like we really meant it.

Matt and I would proceed to crush the living breath out of each other for the next ten minutes. It was brutal.

I'll tell you what, that was the most effective punishment ever. Tolerance became the new norm after that.

Back to the socks. It's usually a day or two before I'm able to find the missing sock and pair them up once more. But there have been a couple times where they have remained separated for months.

In fact, I just got them back together again after one had been hiding beneath the bottom drawer of my dresser. When I paired them and neatly tucked them back into the sock drawer, I commanded them to hug each other.

Dysfunctional? We'll see about that.

That's all I have today. Thanks for reading. Happy Friday.

No comments:

Post a Comment