Put A Sock In It

Sometimes you just have to be honest with yourself. Sometimes you just have to reach into the dark night of your soul to see what's lurking there. Yesterday, I reached in -- not so much into my soul, but the second best locale, one of my dresser drawers -- and found the sweetest pair of dainty-girly black socks with scalloped edges ever created, and with zero hesitation, put them on. That's right, I put these adorably soft tootsie coverings on, knowing full well that they didn't belong to me. Sock-wise, it was wonderful. I wore them all day. I wore them to bed. I was in need of comfort and found it, courtesy of these socks. And yet, there were only a few explanations for their existence.

Either a Magical Sock Fairy slipped them into the drawer.

Or a Sock Thief squirreled them away from their rightful owner. 

In this case, the SJG pleads guilty. Someone make a citizen's arrest. For I am the Sock Thief. I am the klepto-sock-squirrel in this disturbing scenario. I am ashamed to admit this, but the SJG didn't even know I was pilfering these short stockings until early this morning, when reality hit me like a frozen challah. Somehow I snatched these petite offerings from either my French daughter-in-law, or my son's Finnish girlfriend. With all the Sunday laundering, all the multi-owned clothing getting washed, dried and sorted, the socks accidentally got left behind. And I called "Mine!" So now I'm coming clean. (See what I did there?) I'm willing to give back the socks to their rightful owner. So gals, if you're reading this, you have 10 minutes to claim your lost property via text, phone call, email or carrier pigeon. Otherwise, and there's no easy way to put this: I call "Mine."