I found a polka-dotted pink sock in my shirt sleeve at work this morning.   It looked like Ooseung’s.   Now I know where all those disappearing socks go.

It reminded me of when my brother and I were kids, according to our mom we would leave toys in our dad’s shoes at night.  In the morning he would inevitably find them and laugh, “Those stinkers don’t want me to forget them, do they?”

This was before he walked out for good, which isn’t exactly unforgiveable if you’ve met my mom.

The sock was a little reminder of my sweet boy and girl too, not that I need reminding.  It was just more tactile than the usual mental jpegs.

When I got home, I told my wife Amy to which she exclaimed,

“That’s my sock!”