OF CHILDREN AND SOCKS

My son’s command of English is way better than mine. I come home after roller skating in the park. The day is hot and I’m drenched in sweat. Vasya sits on the couch playing his X-box. I crash on the coach. Vas looks at me, makes a face and says – ‘Dad, you smell…..organic!’.

At one occasion I asked him if he liked the soup I cooked. He chose his words carefully. He said -‘Not sure about the soup, but I like the idea.’

He is also a very supportive child.

I recently switched to e-cigarettes. Nothing to do with being healthy, it’s just I don’t have a single article of clothing without burn-marks. (I have seven of them. Articles, not burn marks. And that’s including socks, and please remind me to tell you a story about the ‘Planet of Socks’ before I forget). Yes, there are numerous holes in my pants, t-shirts and car seats, that was a main reason for switching to e-cigarettes.

We met up, ordered our coffees, and I took my device out. Vas was very excited. He said ‘Wow!’ and he said ‘Well done Dad!’. He said it looks cool and he’s going to do the same. He said it’s very healthy and it doesn’t stink. He was very supportive.

When he came home he sent me an article about someone who bought himself a top of the range e-cigarette and put it in his pocket. It exploded and burned one of his testicles. Completely.

Now, there’s something about the socks situation, which I mentioned before. The subject was well covered by numerous authors, academics, scientists and philosophers, but none of them could solve the mystery which is – how come you put six socks in the washing machine and only five come out? You can use any combination of any objects in any quantities, colours and sizes, but one sock will always be missing. Try to load your washing device strictly with pairs of everything. Two t-shirts, two tea-towels, two jumpers, two cats, two shoes, and two socks. Like Noah’s Ark. When the Great Flood is over and it’s time for everyone to enter a new world, the sock will walk alone.

I have a theory.

Socks are most intimate but most mistreated articles of underwear. There are not many jokes about panties or bras for that matter, but socks are our favourite subjects in all rude and tasteless jokes. Unfairly, I might add. So they run away when they can.

There’s a planet where all escapees go. They sit around the fire, exchange stories about their former masters and wait for their partners to join them. Pretty sad, actually.