Sock It To Me?

When the college son's socks go missing, as his socks often do, choosing to hide inside pant legs or shoes, under the bed or in the DMZ of his closet, he raids his father's sock drawer. This has been going on for a while now, at least a decade, but who's counting? Normally, the raid takes place in broad daylight. In terms of a stealth mission, it lacks the necessary stealthiness. It's not quite up to CIA standards. Unless it happens at 5 a.m., as it did this morning. Then it's less a raid and more of a rude awakening that elicits the following SJG response:
"Wha-the-@#$%-huh?"
"Sorry, sorry. I need socks."
The mention of socks lessens the SJG's early morning disorientation.
"Oh, hi honey, I love you, make a good movie."
Then I go back to sleep, sort of.  Hubby is now wide awake, already putting his jeans on, ready to help in any way, and asking the pertinent questions.
"What time do you want me to bring lunch?"
You see, hubby is the caterer on the college son's senior project, a 10-minute short he must film in three days, each one beginning around, you guessed that right, 5 a.m. Hubby performs other tasks, as well, including, but not limited to, prop master, go-fer and continuity expert. The SJG supervises the whole mess, excuse me, process, from afar, issuing supportive texts from the comfort of my palatial estate, such mini-pep talks as "Yay!" and "Woo-hoo!" I've already done my job, as Highly Qualified Script Adviser, with such helpful notes as, "That comma should go there," and "Make sure your main character wears his own socks. That's important to his arc."