Life as a sock

I think I could be a sock. You know, an old, nasty thing, full of holes, ready for the garbage… that kind of sock.

You know how you put the sock through so much, you walk on it, you put it through the laundry, you sometimes wipe up water from the floor with it, you sweat in it, you accidentally pick up little pieces of muck in it, and then, when it’s all off-white and has holes in it, you curse the sock! Yeah, that’s me… that kind of sock!

You know when you wash a pair of socks, and you mysteriously lose one side, and then you don’t even bother to look for it… you just decide to chuck the surviving sock… that’s me… that kind of sock.

You know how sometimes both socks in the pair are not equal… like one would be a little more worn, or one would have a hole, or one would be a bit more “off white”, and you would look at the partner and think “you remained so good… what happened to your partner?” And some people might even say that the sock was maybe “too good” for it’s partner… well, that partner is me, I am that kind of sock.