Sock City

I brought up my bizarre imagination a couple of posts ago and my mom brought up some other things too. That I saw burps also (actually I saw those first) and I could hear the worms scream when we'd put them on a fishing hook. Oddly enough, it didn't really traumatize me but there's nothing quite like a worm scream.

Anyway, this morning while helping my son find some socks to wear today I started wondering where in the h e double hockeysticks do all of the socks go?

I suddenly had a vision of an entire sock city that lies in a parallel universe. You have to be 100% cotton to get there.

There would be sock bars...where all the single socks would be looking for their perfect mate.

Hobo socks would be piled up against the walls...all grungy with lint stuck to them.

Old, threadbare mated socks would be walking hand in hand in the parks. Or would that be heel in heel?

Lots of runaway kid socks, out on their own. Argyle pimp socks trying to take advantage of them.

All the old tube socks with stretched out heels would be wolf-whistling at the silk stocking walking by.

I'm thinking I'm going to wear sandals today.